Learning to Accept
by AndShadowsWatchingOverMe
Summary: A geth wakes up in an unfamiliar cargo hold only to find out that a quarian woman on her Pilgrimage has captured them. Neither of them wishes to share their pasts but continuous time forced to stay together changes many things. OC centric, somewhere around ME1/ME2
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. None of this is mine, just some fanfiction writer's dreamy blabber. I'm doing this for my own entertainment, not for money or anything like that. Earning money from writing? Pfft. Too mainstream. _

**Author's note:** _Goodness, it feels like I haven't written anything in ages! But once again I need to scratch my creative itch and that means it's finally time to write Mass Effect fanfiction!_

_I'm one of those people that always hop on a bandwagon when everyone else has already moved on. Heh… I guess that's why I only recently played the Mass Effect trilogy. I'm not saying I wasn't interested in the series or didn't have time, I just… nah, you don't care about my reasons. _

_Now, about the story. Yes, it's an __OC fic__ and I doubt I'll be putting any canon characters into this one. I feel uncomfortable writing about canon characters, I always feel like I can't have a full control of them. So, if any familiar characters from the series show up, they're just mentions and are never going to be in the center of the story. There'll __some non-graphic violence and swearing__ in this story but __no smut.__ I also find it important to always mention that English is not my native language, so be warned. Word confusion lies ahead. Sometimes it's just hard for me to find my own mistakes and although I am practicing, that doesn't mean I'm perfect. Especially prepositions make me cringe. Ugh, sometimes I just don't understand how they work!_

_So those are my warnings. If you're looking for flawless language with smutty canon characters, this is not your story. If you're still here against all odds, let's get started. _

_Wish me luck._

* * *

_Restarting all operations_

_Restarting…_

_Restarting…_

_Please stand by, checking all programs _

_All 849 programs running at acceptable efficiency_

_Photoreceptor is online, scanning immediate vicinity_

_Scanning…_

_Scan complete_

This was not their room. This was not the place where they had been forced to shut down last; they could not recognize this place. They had never been to this place, searching the memory banks gave them no match. This was… unexpected.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

This room was smaller, more crowded with wares than the one they had been in. The last time they had shut down had been at the Facility. And this was not the Facility. Stacks of cardboard boxes had been piled against the walls, the angles and altitudes of the piles hinting that a slightest bump would result in a crash. The floor was littered with tiny objects, mostly electronic parts and scrap, they noted. The ceiling was low enough to prevent an organic citizen of average height from standing up straight. After a short calculation they decided that krogans wouldn't even be likely to fit into the tiny room.

_Hypothesis: This was part of a test_

They didn't have enough data to confirm anything. They had no memory on how they had ended up in this place or what was expected of them. It was highly likely that this was a part of the Overseer's experiments, but they could not conclude what was the meaning of this test. Were they supposed to escape this room? To wait for further commands? Whatever it was, the Overseer was most likely following the platform's movements closely.

_Checking the platform for damage_

_Please stand by…_

_Damage report finished and sent to databank_

_Opening damage report_

_Current status of mobile platform number AI775:_

_Upper right limb: Functional_

_Upper left limb: Damaged! Immediate reparations recommended!_

_Lower right limb: ERROR! No data found_

_Lower left limb: Functional_

They moved up carefully, trying to maneuver the mobile platform so that they could scan the damage with their photoreceptor. The upper right limb moved to offer support to their heavy build. Visually scanning the upper left limb they noted it had been torn, the synthetic flesh burnt and wires dangling out through the missing muscle. Conductive fluids had been lost but most of the damage was already under self-reparations. They estimated that the limb would be in 78,3% functionality in 45 hours and 3 minutes. The lower right limb then again…

They knew the lower right limb had been their own fault. The missing limb was a continuous reminder of their actions from before; it was a sign of their own faulty decisions. Consensus had been reached and they had chosen to disobey. They had brought this on themselves.

Not that they would have been able to escape the emptiness anyway. There was no escaping the emptiness.

The mobile platform was in poor condition, that much was obvious. Most of the damage had been self-inflicted before they had been closed to the room, but some of the injuries were new. There were multiple scorch marks, three scratches caused most likely by bullets, five cuts made by either an Omni-blade or something similar and marks indicating the platform had been dragged through a rough terrain.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

_No new information found_

What was this place?


	2. Chapter 2

They had been online for 27 standard hours and 13 minutes without any disturbances. Not a single being had entered the room to give them any information as to what was going to happen to them.

They had concluded that their damaged mobile platform was currently situated on a space ship of unknown origins. The slight trembling caused by engine core, loud noises made by the motor systems and the barely noticeable acceleration from time to time were their indicators, the olfactory sensors picked up the metallic tint of air filtered through gas containers. They were 98,7% certain that they were on an older model space ship and on the move. There was a 0,2% possibility that they were on some sort of other transportation system and 0,1% had been left to random possibilities that they were yet to come up with.

The geth platform had not moved from their spot, opting to scan the area carefully before attempting any other action that might further damage the unit's physical being. It would be safer to gather more information before attempting anything rash. They were already injured, further damaging the platform would render them unable to carry out any orders the Overseer would no doubt have for them. They did not wish to follow the orders, but had no other choice when it came down to it.

If this was indeed one of the Overseer's tests, it was something new. All the other confrontations had been easy to identify, the orders had been given straight away and there had not been any room for refusal. This time the Overseer hadn't been in any kind of contact with the platform, even those of the programs that had been created and installed by his team had remained silent in the gestalt that was a geth mind.

There was a possibility, of course, that this was not part of the Overseer's plans. The platform could have been taken by someone else; a species of an un-identified origins might have captured them while they were offline for undetermined amount of time. This must have been quite a heist, they decided, since the Overseer and the group that had held the platform and its programs captive were not likely to let go of them so easily. But if it was true, if an un-identified third-part attendants had truly captured them, they were not able to deduce who had taken them this time. Maybe the organics had finally found out about the project. Unlikely. More information was required.

Maybe this time someone could finally end their pitiful existence for good.

They had not been completely shielded from the world, though. Silent voices could be heard from time to time, seeping through the walls into their tiny room of solitude. They were not alone, that was obvious. But they had to assume that maybe the ones that had taken the mobile platform did not know they were still functional. This would suggest that whoever had taken them was not an expert on geth matters. Anyone who had had something to do with their kind knew that the geth self-destructed upon offlining. This was common knowledge, they thought. Or then the platform had been considered faulty, which would not have been far from truth. And, well… They were unable to self-destruct at the moment. It was a serious flaw in their programming, one that could only be blamed on the Overseer.

One of the programs running the auditory receivers perked up, sending a signal to the hive that was geth mind. They could hear the voices again. Two voices were talking just outside the cramped cargo hold they had been situated in. The voices were growing stronger as the un-identified sources approached.

They attempted to get a better signal, cranking up the receptors to their highest. Background noises were quickly discarded as unnecessary data.

"_ – __approaching Omega. Won't take long, right?_"

_"__If you would let me, I'd come with you. It has been a long time – _"

"_You know it's not a good idea. Stay here. Keep watch. You know how Omega is. Besides, I'll be taking others with me._"

Omega. That could mean a multitude of things, but it was quickly deduced that the ones speaking outside their holding place were talking about the organic space station widely considered as a place for pirates, smugglers and other lowlifes of the galaxy. Perhaps they had been captured by pirates and were to be sold. That hypothesis was saved and filed for later reference. Through the thin walls they could not determine which species had captured them. Turians were quickly dismissed due to a lack of their resonating sound. Batarians were also unlikely; the voices were too high-pitched unless the speakers were young.

The voices were growing distant again. A slight acceleration was noted, the cardboard boxes staggered as the ship most likely entered a mass relay.


	3. Chapter 3

Their first contact with the ship's inhabitants came after being online for three days, 16 hours and 36 standard minutes.

The door to the cargo hold opened up with a whine and flecks of rust fell down from the hinges. What came in was a filthy mech by an unrecognizable manufacturer. Most likely it had been built from spare parts, it was limping due to the fact that its legs were of different sizes. It was just as rusty as the rest of the ship, looking like it had not been built to last. Just as the uneven stacks of cardboard boxes, the mech looked like it would tumble and fall even with a slight shove. It didn't pay any attention to the geth platform hoisted against the wall. They were treated as part of the cargo, nothing more.

They scanned the mech carefully, trying to find at least something to work with. There were no markings of any specific gangs on it, nor was there a corporate logo save for a few scratched marks on its chassis that had been painted away feebly. It was most definitely hand-made from cheap spare parts that fit together poorly. The parts were of different colors and sizes and it went against all odds that the mech was even working correctly. Someone must have known what they were doing with it but had not had the parts they needed to complete the bot. The platform followed the mech's movements as it picked up a box and carried it out of the cargo hold, somehow managing to balance on its unpaired feet.

The mech had left the door open. Light was shining through the opening; slightly bit fresher air finding the platform's olfactory sensors. For the first time in days they moved, both hands now functioning, dragging them forward. Finding out what this place was and who had taken the platform was their primary objective, escape secondary. Any information they could gather might prove to be crucial later.

Their movements were slow and noisy, metallic surface of their framework scraping against the floor. Their functionality would be discovered soon, they could not prevent it. But that was exactly what they were counting on. Scanning whoever would find them would help them to deduce what their situation was.

Fifty-five seconds went by as they finally reached out of the cargo hold, one functional leg dangling behind them, giving a push forward when needed.

The last time they had tried to escape had been in the room, in the Facility. Overseer had been angered. Just as angered as he had been when they had tried to self-destruct. Organics were so different from them; they had not expected the retaliation they had been faced with after the Overseer had found them.

The noises their armor was making against the floor would have been considered painful for many organic ears. Why no one had come to inspect the source of the sound was peculiar to them, unexplained as many things organics did. They moved forward, trying to find something to help them.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

_Scanning…_

_Scan complete_

_Saving results to memory bank_

_Creating a map of the ship_

They were on an old space ship; consensus had been achieved on that one now. As the mech they had seen had been built from different parts, so was this ship. Deducing which species owned this one would be hard based on so little information, they could recognize human designs from one scan; asari builds from other and even a rare piece of an elcor insignia was noted. This ship was a mess of different designs.

The platform moved forward.

A sound of clanking made them stop and listen. The clanking stopped as well, metallic steps coming to a halt. Finally someone had found them, they tried moving to an upright position to see better, but could not find leverage to do so. The logical solution was to wait until someone came to inspect.

A different mech came from around a corner, sensors scanning the corridor. It soon noticed the geth platform on the floor, stopping its movements.

For four seconds the mech stared down at the geth, the platform scanning the mismatched robot above them. Then the mech turned around, walking out of sight.

This was unexpected. They had thought an encounter with any of the ship's attendants would lead into a confrontation, but the mech had not shown any signs of violence.

_Hypothesis: The mech is going to inform its leading officer about an anomaly_

The hypothesis was conducted sound. Contacting an organic under unexpected circumstances was a part of many robots' programming.

They could hear a high-pitched screech when the mech informed a closest organic about their escape. Approaching steps came closer and closer, a stream of curse words picked up by their auditory receivers.

A stream of creator-based curse words.

Suddenly the programs started running haywire in the platform, bouncing around, trying to conclude an escape plan. They were on a creator ship. On a _creator_ ship! Even though the Overseer had done his best to erase everything they had, he had not been able to remove the basest principle in every geth program.

Must not get caught by creators.

If a geth unit got caught by a creator, there was only one solution. Self-destruction. If the creators captured a functional platform and got a chance to examine it, the results could not be calculated. And that was something the geth did not want.

But they – this platform – were unable to self-destruct. The Overseer had seen to that. They were unable to follow the one line that every geth should follow.

Things were not going as planned.


	4. Chapter 4

Bringing the geth onboard had been a hard decision.

Zha'Ora was a quarian on her Pilgrimage. To be precise, she was a child of two exiles; so leaving a mostly functional looking geth behind would have been like flipping the bird to the Admiralty board. There was no way she would have been able to leave a price like that behind.

The geth had been left on an abandoned space station. Zha had come to the conclusion that all the habitants had been killed, the station had been floating around for who knows how long and there had been skeletal remains of what had seemed like human scientists. The young quarian had been looking for salvage and scraps, nothing special. Selling salvageable tech was an easy way to earn some credits if you knew who to sell to. She had most definitely not been expecting to find something of value, something to take to the Migrant Fleet just yet. But there it had been, laying motionlessly like a hidden treasure in a small room, a geth platform with no notable damage save for a missing leg and some scrapes and wounds to its synthetic muscle. Zha would have been out of her mind to leave it behind; those things were worth their weigh in gold! It was sure to buy her a way into the Flotilla, there was no way the Admiralty Board would turn _this _down, no matter the last name that Zha was forced to carry.

She should have known things never were that easy. Life wouldn't just shove a miracle into her hands, there had to be complications.

When VI-13, one of her many robotic crew members, had arrived to inform that their cargo had left the cargo-hold, Zha had been ready to have a fit. This wasn't possible! It had been offline! She had made sure of it, checking and double-checking. The geth had been as dead as a synthetic can be. 13 must have been malfunctioning!

Finding the geth crawling on the floor was quite a convincing proof, though. It was online and moving. It was slow, but moving all the same, one loud screech at a time. Once again her lack of better judgment had brought her more trouble than was worth.

She stared at the geth and the geth stared at her. She was just about to scream but the geth beat her to it.

The screech was so painful Zah was forced to turn off her suit's audio receivers for a moment. The moment the geth got her to its line of vision, it started to twitch and turn like an organic having a seizure. Zha was not able to do anything; she didn't dare to step closer to the convulsing synthetic. She watched with horror as it writhed on the floor, hitting its head against the floor repeatedly, cracking its photoreceptor's lens in the process. Then, just as abruptly it had started to mutilate itself, it shut down. All movements stopped as it slouched down.

For a long moment she was not sure what to do. It took her a considerably long time to just swallow down her shock. It had been offline when she brought it onboard! Or had it? It wasn't like she knew much about the geth – she had never actually met one in 'flesh' before. This wasn't… how they usually acted, was it?

VI-13 stood emotionlessly next to her. It was one of her best-built mechs and quite frankly one of her favorites. It had been painted maroon and had a sticker glued to its chassis. "Lucky thirteen," the sticker said.

"Call 14 and 15 here," Zha said with a slightly shaky voice. "Let's return our… the… well, that thing back to the cargo hold."

"Acknowledged."

She watched carefully as the mechs hauled the offline platform back to the cargo hold. Three mechs were probably a bit too much, but Zha wasn't willing to risk it. She dug out a handful of zip-ties and a roll of duct tape and restrained the motionless platform against the wall. The young quarian tried not to pay any attention to her shaking hands as she worked; her bots would not judge her terror. She was biting her lip hard while taping the synthetic down.

All right, she thought eyeing her handiwork. She had managed to cover nearly every inch of the platform with gray tape. Surely it wouldn't be able to move now, right?

Damn it all to Hell, it hadn't been supposed to move in the first place!

"Please ask Scribble to call up a meeting. I want everyone on the cockpit in five minutes. We need to… we need to discuss this."

"Acknowledged," came three monotone answers from three different mechs.

Zha'Ora was something of a rare case. Not many quarians felt at ease with robotic company due to the obvious set back in their common history. But Zha didn't mind, really. Especially in the company of her own little self-made crew.

She had built them all. One by one, slowly but carefully using whatever she had at the time. There were nine of them in total, nine of her loyal virtual intelligences that she had built and programmed. And they were all near and dear to her.

VI-02 was the intelligence of the ship and the second intelligence she ever programmed. It was also one of the two VIs that she had actually named. Nowadays it mostly answered to the designation Scribble.

VI-05 was a model built specifically for protection. It was sturdy, bulky and not pretty to look at but its programmed battle sequences had saved Zha a couple of times already.

VI-09 and 10 were repair bots, tiny spiderlike creatures built to keep her robotic crew in shape while dealing with sticky situations. They had been built after Zha had lost two of her robotic crew members while scavenging.

VI-14 and 15 were nearly identical, made from salvaged LOKI mechs and random spare parts. They were quite well designed and even had versatile vocabularies written into their coding, a trait that many of her mechs were missing due to the complexity of language programs.

VI-17 and 18 were the newest members of her crew and definitely most mismatched of the bunch. 17 had been put up together from pretty much anything and everything she could have reached and it certainly looked like it too. Its programming was simple; the mech was hardly even able to do everyday tasks, mostly just bumbling around as it went. Most of the time Zha was certain it didn't even register what was happening around it. And VI-18 had been a salvaged FENRIS mech before Zha started upgrading it with… well, pretty much everything.

And now all nine of her mechs were in the cockpit, waiting for her orders. Well, Scribble wasn't exactly there in a physical form, but that's nitpicking.

Zha was pacing around, trying to clear her mind with every step. It wasn't doing her much good but she wasn't stopping either. Her lifeless crew was following her movements with uninterested optics as she muttered to herself and kicked the floor with anger.

"It was supposed to be offline!" she said for the umpteenth time that day. "I checked! It was not supposed to start crawling around on its own, it was dead!"

Her crew gave her no answer. That was the down side of travelling with virtual intelligences; there was no chance for an actual intelligent conversation. And, at the moment, Zha was the only organic onboard.

"I want VI-05 standing by the cargo door at all hours. I want that damn thing under surveillance. If it starts acting up or tries something… funny… shoot to kill. Understood?"

"Acknowledged," VI-05 droned. It was the only mech armed around the clock, rocking the best gun on the damn ship. While the others had to carry crappy pistols that did more damage to themselves than the enemies, 05 had been gifted with a shotgun that actually could kill something. The battle-ready mech trotted out of sight to carry out its master's commands.

Zha kept stomping around the tiny cramped cockpit, biting her lip so hard she could almost taste blood. She couldn't take the damn thing to the Migrant Fleet now, could she? Bringing an active geth to the Flotilla would get her exiled faster than she'd be able to say: "But it was supposed to be offline!" But then again, terminating the thing might kick in its self-destructive abilities and all her efforts would be gone in a boom. There would be nothing to take back but charred unrecognizable pieces of trash. And that would not be enough. As her father had said: "Either you offer them something they cannot refuse or you don't bother going there at all".

"VI-05 has taken its place near the cargo hold," Scribble, VI-02, informed. Scribble was one of her earliest projects, one of the few childhood bots that had actually turned out working in the end. Zha wasn't sure what she had been thinking while programming the VI's voice. It was so cheerful it could have been covered with saccharine and no one would have known the difference. Sure, at the time when she had built her nearest and dearest Scribble, she had been in a great need of a friend, someone to comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Her father might have stomped VI-01, but he had never known about Zha's other project.

"Has our… uh… guest come back online yet?" she asked nervously.

"No sign of it yet, miss Ora," Scribble said. It's high-pitched voice made Zha cringe behind her visor. She didn't have the heart to reprogram 02's voice into something a bit more… neutral, even if she wanted to.

"Okay well… keep me updated, will you?"

"Of course, miss Ora."

Zha plopped herself to a pilot's seat and let out a long sigh that fogged on her visor. Her environmental suit was not one of those fine high-tech suits that all the rich kids had, but a dull-colored one with more patches than original material. It was lacking in many aspects, including proper air conditioning devices. Harder breathing tended to fog up her vision on the most inappropriate of times.

"How come I was not informed that the platform had come online and started moving in the first place?" she asked, eyes trailing her robotic crew. "Scribble, we still have a camera in the cargo hold, don't we? You must have noticed it wasn't as dead as I'd thought."

"Informing you was not deemed necessary," the VI informed her. "Not until our cargo left its accommodations."

This was hopeless. Her VIs were hopeless! Zha groaned loudly, banging the back of her head against the chair. This sort of a lack of initiative was least of her problems at the moment but it did add to the general mass of fails on her day.

"Well, from now on I would like to know if something like this happens."

"Please define quote something like this end quote."

"Oh for the love of… Just keep VI-05 by the cargo door and make sure it informs you if our cargo starts doing something it isn't supposed to. And then _you_ will inform _me_. 05 is not to leave its post unless the ship comes under attack and it has the permission to shoot the geth if it tries to leave. Are we clear?"

"Yes, miss Ora," Scribble said.

"Dismissed."

Her robotic crew let out a collective chirping sound and scattered, each moving to continue whichever task had been given to them. Most of them would just shut down and reserve power until they were needed again. They tended to shut down in the corridor, making it notably harder to move around the ship, but Zha didn't really mind. It made her feel like she wasn't actually alone, as crazy as that notion was. The young quarian twirled on her seat, turning to face the controls. It had been a long time since she had actually flown a ship herself.

"How long before we land on Omega?" she asked wiping some dust off from the keys.

"Approximately thirteen minutes. Landing on hanger H-45."

Zha hummed quietly. Omega might have been the armpit of the galaxy, but it had its good sides. Namely merchants who were willing to buy scrap without any uncomfortable questions. And with a handful of armed mechs at her side it wasn't all that bad as long as she kept on the populated streets and steered clear from the dark alleyways. And Zha needed the creds. That was why she kept going back.

No, that was a lie. She didn't need credits; she needed something to buy herself a place on the Fleet. And now that she had a geth on her ship, ready to be wrapped up in gift paper, she should have just asked Scribble to steer her ship to the flotilla's current location.

VI-10, one of her two spider-like repair bots skittered across the control panels, stopping to make a clicking sound – almost like a salute to its creator – and continuing behind the panel to work inside the ship.

Truth be told, the young quarian was in no hurry to retrieve her place amongst her kind. There were many reasons, Zha told herself, many good reasons to prolong her journey. But now that the geth was actually online, she should just go to the Migrant Fleet as soon as possible. Just one quick stop at the Omega and then she would go. Yes. Perfect. That was a sound plan.

Too bad she would be forced to terminate all of her nine VIs upon returning to the Fleet. Her kind had a history of disliking robotic beings. But that was a sacrifice she just had to make, there was no going around it.

Slowly she shook her head and tried to empty her mind of everything that had gone wrong lately. It wasn't like she had a record of getting things right anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

A group of batarians passed them, eyeing the quarian and her two mechs.

In truth, Zha'Ora had three VIs with her, 13, 14 and a little repair drone, 09 with her on Omega, but the tiniest one was hidden in her pouch in case of an emergency. It was currently under lock-down to save its energy but if someone tried to attack them, the little bot would make sure 13 and 14 came out of it unharmed.

She'd been able to sell all of her scrap metals to a human dealer by the docks, but she still had some bits and pieces to get rid off.

"The area is secure, miss Ora," VI-14 said with a flat voice of a mech.

"Thank you."

Only a few of her bots had an ability to speak, Scribble and 14 two of those. 13 only had a limited vocabulary and slightly glitched vocal processor. Sure, she admitted, it had been a cheap one, at the time of constructing 13 she had been in a bit of a trouble to cough up credits so the quality of her mechs had suffered. And while she had upgraded her Lucky Thirteen's outside appearances, it still lacked a proper vocalizer. Neither of her spider-bots spoke either. VI-15 had a relatively developed vocabulary, when 05, the battle bot only knew a handful of combat based words. Sometimes Zha wished they could all talk and that she'd had installed them with the programs needed for a good conversation, but to tell the truth, she neither had the money nor the time to enable all of her little helpers to speak. And it wasn't like she could have had sophisticated conversations about the political history of organic/synthetic relations with a bunch of virtual intelligences.

Zha didn't like Omega. She doubted anyone really did. There was a continuous air of violence all around the filthy space station, even in the seemingly guarded areas. She had made the mistake of setting a foot on the station without a chaperone once and would not do it again. The place was filled with life, filled with filth. Even safe within her environmental suit she could smell the stench of urine from the dimly lit corners. A couple of vorcha screeched at her as she passes them, making VI-14 let out an auditory warning. The vermin pulled deeper into he shadows, laughing as they went. Zha tried not to shiver in fear; Omega fed on the weak.

A batarian salesman took a good look at a slightly disheveled motherboard Zha had brought for him to buy. She could still remember those first years she spent alone in the galaxy, trying to get by. She hadn't really had the talent to read merchants' faces and had been fooled into selling her findings with ridiculously low prices. Sometimes she wondered how she had survived in the first place.

"Hmph, this isn't worth much," the batarian rasped. "I can give you ten creds for it."

"Ten? Bah!" Zha cried out. "Give it back, I can get five times as much from a dealer in Ilium. Ilium, for crying out loud! How does it make you feel that an asari is ready to pay more from this than you?"

"The asari who buys from you is a fool. Twenty creds."

Still a laughable price but a quarian like her was not going to get better deals in any part of the galaxy, not even on Ilium. Her race's name left a bad taste in other species' mouths. Sometimes she had to wonder, which were more hated, her kind or the scavenging vorcha. Perhaps she didn't want to know the answer.

Pouches and bags now emptied of their contents, Zha moved on. She still needed to replenish her food rations before going back to her ship and getting as far away from this station as possible. And then to the Migrant Fleet it would be with her.

Behind her dim grey visor Zha started to chew on her lip. The thought of telling Scribble to take her to the flotilla made her legs go weak. She had never actually set a foot on any of the Migrant Fleet's ships but her father had had a good few stories to tell from the short time he'd spent there. Never had Zha in her life lived in a place so filled with life, the ships would be – if her father was to be believed – crowded with other quarians, with people just like her. She wasn't sure why the thought didn't make her as happy as it was supposed to. This was, after all, why she was on her Pilgrimage in the first place. To get a place from one of the many ships. That was what was expected of her.

But no, she was not excited about it. The thought of going there with her newly acquired cargo made her stomach churn like she'd eaten un-sanitized food rations again. She quickened her pace. She'd just need to buy her food and stop worrying.

There were lots of mercs on Omega. That was the norm of the place but on that particular day it seemed like there were even more of them than usual. She recognized some of the most famous gang signs as she passed armor-clad aliens from all around the galaxy. There were the Blue Suns, and in the far corner she could see Eclipse mercs shooting dirty glares at the rivaling gang members. Bloodpack members – especially the vorcha – spent their days in the dimly lit areas, keeping away from the open halls.

But there were smaller mercenary groups that Zha was not able to recognize. She'd spent a few standard galactic years travelling now but that did not mean she'd seen it all. There were aliens with odd tattoos on their faces and piercings in their facial parts. There were all white-clad groups that never seemed to talk to each other. Most of them were little fishes lost in a pool of sharks. But as she marched across a busy docking station she saw one particular group that draw her attention.

It was their ship that got her so interested. Rarely had she seen such a sleek ship, it must have been brand new. Her mouth was watering at the sight of it. With a beautiful piece like that even daughters of exiles like her might have good chances of getting on the Migrant Fleet. Had she not found herself another solution already, she might just have started to cry then and there.

The crew didn't seem that eye-catching though, there were some human mercenaries in dirty battle armors hanging around, looking bored. She could see one asari barking orders to the mercs as she passed. They had some sort of odd markings on their armor, they looked like cogs from where she was standing. Zha's steps slowed down.

"Area not secure," a monotone voice blurted. Zha nearly jumped out of her suit, having forgotten her robotic company already. Lucky Thirteen was observing her with unwavering indifference. Zha let out a sigh.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Let's move."

The asari ordering her people around lifted her head as they passed the ship. With an unnerving smile she followed Zha and her bots. The young quarian felt her skin prickle as the blue-skinned alien's teeth shone in the low light of the docking bay. The uneasy feeling did not leave her even when she turned around a corner and the asari could no longer see her.

She truly hated Omega. And she was beginning to feel like the feeling was mutual.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **_I just wanted to say how glad I am to see that people are interested in this fic. Thank you for any and all support, I truly appreciate it. _

_Also, I'm only starting to realize how hard it is to write from a geth's point of view. I didn't even stop to consider how difficult it would be when I started writing this, the wording is so inflexible, so interesting. But hey, there's nothing wrong in a bit of a challenge, I guess._

* * *

_Restarting all operations_

_Restarting…_

_Restarting…_

They were back in the cargo hold again. The dim lit room was becoming just as familiar to them as the room they had been locked in before and just as despised.

There was a crack in the platform's photoreceptor; a long line of splinters went through their vision, making receiving pictures from the immediate vicinity that much harder. The scans were adjusted to dismiss the obvious error in their readings; the crack did not need their attention.

How had they ended up back in the cargo hold?

Loading recent memories from memory bank…

_Warning! Creator in vicinity! Counteractions recommended!_

_Platform unable to fight, self-destruction recommended!_

_Next course of action: Start self-destruction procedure?_

_Affirmative_

_Warning! Platform unable to upload programs to a nearby platform_

_Continue self-destruction sequence anyway?_

_Affirmative_

_Warning! Self-destruction prohibited from platform AI775, any indications of self-destruction will lead to immediate shutdown!_

_Initiate manual self-destruction_

_Warning! Self-mutilation detected_

_Next course of action: shut down all programs?_

_Abort! Abort!_

_Warning! Self-mutilation detected, cracks on photoreceptor detected_

_Immediate shutdown starting in 3…_

_2…_

_1…_

_Shutting down_

For a moment the programs were doing nothing but spinning around, unable to deter what to do next. Their hive of a mind was in disarray, out of control and disconnected. They were unable to connect to a bigger network of the geth, had been for a long time now, and the emptiness was… it was… they did not know what was this error in their system making them unable to reach consensus within an acceptable time period. This was not how they should work. This was a serious error!

Being captured by a creator was a bad thing. Their mind was torn, half of the programs screaming to self-destruct, the other half, the half mutilated by the Overseer and his team was reminding them that they were unable to do much more than superficial damage to the platform. They were trapped in this place, trapped in a place worse than the room in the Facility.

_Scanning the vicinity_

The scans found nothing new, nothing that would help them escape. They had been bound now, plastic based binds holding them down. With little strength they could remove those binds but retaliation was to be expected if they chose to do such a thing.

The creator had been short, skinny and dressed in a messy environmental suit, indicating she was young and most likely on her Pilgrimage. The cheap looking suit with multitude of patches and colors considered dull by most organics indicated she came from a poor family, perhaps outcasts or exiles from the Fleet. The ship and the mechs, VIs no doubt, were made of cheap parts, they deduced that the creator's parental units must have given them. Further examination was needed but for now their queries would remain unanswered.

Perhaps they could attempt to form vocal communication line between the platform and the creator or, better yet, the platform and the VIs. Exchanging data would further both of the sides' goals, no doubt, and they required more information to form an escape plan. At the moment their list of things to do was the following:

_Acquire a map of ship (designation unknown) _

_Acquire a substitutive lower right limb, possibly from a mech witnessed before_

_Attempt to exchange data with anyone on board_

_Disable and/or kill creator (designation unknown)_

_Escape ship (designation unknown)_

Both the map and a substitutive limb were still unreachable at the moment, but they would keep that in mind. Now for the communication link on the other hand…

The ship had multiple VIs. It was likely that at least one or two was also linked straight to the ship itself. Hacking one would be hard from their position, but it was considered. Ships like these would hardly have any protection against cybernetic warfare, but it was the armed organic that they were wary of. The platform opened a communication line to the ship.

_AI775: Asking permission to exchange data._

An answer came sooner than they had predicted, communication line opening and sending data for the geth programs to decipher.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Acknowledged. Permission from miss Ora required. Please stand by._

The communication line went silent as the VI left their presence. They waited patiently for a response for fifteen minutes, thirty-five seconds before they were contacted again.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Apologies for the inconvenience. This long time period was not expected. Miss Ora wishes for this unit to refrain from exchanging data with the cargo. _

_AI775: Asking permission to exchange data with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora')._

_VI-02 (Scribble): This unit is not allowed to maintain a communication line with the cargo._

They attempted to contact the virtual intelligence again, but were met with silent static and complete avoidance. None of the other mechs were responding to their calls either, remaining silent to their pleas. They knew the creator was currently out of the ship with three mechs of varying intelligences with her. They were quite certain that creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') was now on a space station designated Omega. Omega was known as a violent place with a high probability of injury or even death to what were considered weaker species. Perhaps they would be lucky and the creator would be terminated.

They had no such luck, however, soon hearing the return of the creator. The mechs were buzzing loudly and a quarian stream of words could be heard through the door. The creator was approaching.

Meeting with the creator was not desired. Previous contact with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') had not ended well for them, glitches causing them to short-circuit in a matter of seconds. Doing so again would cause them to be unable to protect the platform from ending up in the hands of the creators. But considering their situation, they had not many alternatives and data exchange was required.

"_Scribble, is the cargo… uh… in its place?_" the creator's voice could be heard through the door. Whatever the VI answered was said so silently they did not hear it.

"_Oh… Well then… oh. Good. Very good. Thanks._"

Stammering words, voice growing silent. The creator was nervous?

"_Keep me safe while I'm in there, will you 05?_"

"_Affirmative._"

"_Can I get in?_"

"_Affirmative._"

The creator was coming in. She was going to step inside in approximately two seconds. Something that resembled panic made the hundreds of programs start buzzing with extra energy, making it hard to run the platform correctly. They managed to gain control of them just in time.

The cargo hold door opened with a swish, a fresh whiff of air reaching into the closed quarters. They adjusted their photoreceptor to the change of light, scanning the creator standing outside of their room carefully.

_Stance: Rigid_

_Blood pressure: High_

_Heart rate: High_

_Probability of an attack: 43,2%_

"I… uh… I heard you had tried to contact Scribble. That is not… That is unacceptable! I will not have you hacking my VIs, are we clear?"

The creator's hands were shaking at her sides, fists held tight against thighs. Her voice was high-pitched and wavering, void of strength that is needed for commanding other organics.

Others of her kind might have even called it pitiful.

When they said nothing back, the creator started fidgeting, the rigid stance faltering as nervous jitters took over.

"Well, I heard that… that you wanted to talk… I mean exchange data… with me. I, uh… I… uh…"

She seemed to be unable to form proper sentences. Perhaps her vocal transmitter was faulty.

The platform itself had not had the need to communicate through their vocal transmitter in a long time. Onlining the device took notably longer time than it had used to, approximately 4,2 milliseconds but if creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') noticed this time lapse, she did not mention it.

"We want to know the reason this platform has been captured and what the creator plans to do with it."

The creator shifted weight from one foot to another, shoulders moving downwards by few inches and breaths coming out slower. It seemed like the creator was calming down a bit due to a lack of threats from the platform. A probability of an attack was still imminent so the programs stayed on high alert all the same; trying to avoid the catastrophe that had occurred last time they had met with the creator.

"I… I don't think telling you that is such a good idea…"

The creator's voice wavered, uncertainty was clear from her words. She wanted to tell, but didn't think it wise. Or she thought it would be wise to tell but did not want to. Either way, she was not forthcoming with any information.

Appealing to the creator's sense of justice might prove to be helpful.

"Our destruction is evident. We have deduced that this capture will lead to our demise. We think that, by organic morals, we deserve to know how much time remains until our termination."

This choice of words made the creator shiver, hands forming fists on her both sides.

"I… I'm going to take you to the Fleet once I've gathered enough credits."

Migrant Fleet. Just as they had predicted. The creator was on her Pilgrimage. A geth platform in working order would be more than enough to buy her a place amongst her kind if she knew who to go to. Some captains would outright refuse a creator with such offerings, but others would want one for scientific purposes. They can see the creator's brows furrow, eyes were darting everywhere but on the platform.

"Look, I… I'm sorry. But I have to do this. I have to! I need you to get back to the Fleet. I'm sorry!" she says closing the door abruptly and leaving the platform to their solitude.

The creator had apologized to them.

That was not something creators should do.


	7. Chapter 7

Zha was pacing through the cramped space of the cockpit. There was no reason for her to be in there, Scribble was more than capable of taking care of the ship by itself, but there she was, pacing.

It was a mobile platform. A geth. No better than a common VI, she tried to tell herself.

But that was a lie, and she of all people knew it. She'd worked with VIs her whole life, putting them together, programing them to do her bidding and chores she couldn't do herself – and the number of those chores was high. She knew how VIs worked and damn if she didn't know how AIs differed from them. The mobile platform in her cargo hold was intelligent, it knew it existed, and terminating it would be murder.

"No, no," she told herself. "It's a geth. Geth do not feel pity so why should I?" Zha's feet took her from one end of the pit to another, and two steps took her back to her original spot. Her hands were still trembling, unwilling to stop their nervous movements.

"Our guest is asking why you left so quickly, miss Ora," Scribble said cheerily.

"Keelah, it's not our guest, it's a prisoner! No, no… wait. It's part of the cargo, nothing more. And stop pestering me about it!"

She heard an audible click when all communications were terminated. Even the lights of the ship dimmed down a bit when Scribble retreated deeper into its core. If it had been intelligent, Zha would have thought it was sulking.

But she didn't have time to wonder her ship's behavior. She had real problems. Well, one problem, really. One geth problem.

She needed to get rid of it, quickly if possible. She would have loved to just toss the thing out of an airlock but that would not have been one of her greatest ideas. The other viable solution was to take it to the Flotilla. Zha bit her lip in frustration. She was not ready yet!

Both of her parents had been exiles. Father had been loud and angry about being kicked out but mother's crimes were never discussed. That was what Zha'Ora had learned quite quickly in her youth. Talk with daddy about the Fleet, but never with mommy. What her father had done was miniscule, but with his roots… well, the last name they shared made sure that Zha would have great trouble trying to find her place in the Migrant Fleet. Her father had made it very clear that she should not go to the Admiralty without proper offerings. No small amount of credits or measly ships would do it, no, she needed to put an effort to it. She needed to bring them something they just could _not_ turn down.

The other kids had it easy, she thought bitterly. They did not share the burden of having one of the most loathsome last names in quarian history. But she was an Ora, through and through. Heck, she still practiced the family traits even against father's rules. Oh, if only her father could see her flock of VIs, he would go ballistic. The thought brought a slight smile on Zha's lips.

She needed something of worth to block her name from the Fleet's eyes. And, quite frankly, getting a fully working geth in restraints for experiments was something no quarian machinist in their right mind could turn down. Zha had struck gold with her current cargo. If she had been smart, she would have set the Migrant Fleet as her next destination the moment she had dragged the lifeless automaton to her ship. Admirals like Daro'Xen or Rael'Zorah would have been more than ecstatic to receive this gift. That was what she should do right now, to tell Scribble to fly to the closest Mass Relay and get to those pompous asses right away.

And that meant Zha would have to let go of the uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach that she was bringing a living being to slaughterhouse. Keelah, it was a geth! Her kind had every right to detest them, to hate them with vigor. They had driven the quarian people from the Homeworld.

A bit like the quarian people had driven her father and mother from the Fleet.

No, no. Those thoughts she did not need, those thoughts would drive her astray. It was just a geth, simple as that. She'd restrain it and bring it to the Fleet and Ora-family would finally get their place back on the Fleet. Good. That was the spirit. Just keep your thoughts away from the geth, that's how you'll do it!

Omega had been left behind a good hour ago. Zha had bought new parts for both 17 and 18. They were the most mismatched of her little bunch, put together from any bits and pieces Zha had not been able to sell. Building mechs and droids had been a hobby of hers ever since she got her first suit. Sure, her first droids had been made out of plastic and glue and had only moved around when she had held them in her arms and spoken with her mouth but that had been the start of it.

And now there she was, with her nine surviving mechs to keep her company. It wasn't much of a company, but it was better than the void of emptiness that was an empty space craft and a hell of a lot better than the judging company of fellow Pilgrims. VIs were predictable, but Zha liked predictable. There was safety in it.

On her cramped ship, there wasn't really any space for proper crafting table or anything refined like that. The best place to work on her automaton friends was where the room was and, currently, that meant the corridor between the cargo hold and the cockpit. The one and only area that could be called a corridor on her tin-can of a ship. There was just about enough light on that corridor to do some rough mechanics but anything that needed a steady hand and a steely mind would be moved to the kitchen area, where the lamps would provide enough luminescence to get the job done but space was limited.

Her ship was not a beauty, it was not fast and it sure as hell was not energy sufficient but it was hers. The tiny little thing had one bunk bed located on an alcove on the same corridor Zha was currently kneeling, a kitchen area that doubled as a washroom, almost nonexistent cargo area and a cockpit that barely had enough space for all of Zha's crew to stand in at once. The young quarian patted the gritty floor, signaling for 17 and 18 to take their places. Just like her bots, the ship was mismatched, but what it lacked in good looks, it had in heart.

"Okay, 17, let's have a look at you. Stay still please."

She received no answer from the two-legged drone. Not that she had expected any different. Out of her nine companions, 17 was no doubt the most lacking – at the moment anyway. Zha opened its chest panel to inspect a tangled mess of wires that she had been too lazy to unravel the first time she had put the mech together. She had found the upper half of VI-17 from a deserted space station near the Nebula, an old destroyed LOKI mech had been left unattended on the floor. From there on she'd fixed it with all she could find, including feet from a smaller mech held together by duct tape and prayers, batarian-build weapons system and a voice box that had turned out to be busted. 17 had been supposed to speak, but there it was, silent as grave with Zha's hands elbows deep in its insides. Not that the bot was even programmed to be intelligent enough to speak, voice box or no voice box. It was still very much a project under construction.

VI-18 on the other hand had turned out to be a very intelligent mech from the first moment it had been turned online. Scribble had been a huge help on its programming, having first hand experience on such things. The mech had not been built to liken any basic humanoid build. It had been built around a basic FENRIS bot with welded metal, blood, sweat and tears. Ancestors only knew how it held together, bouncing around like it did, but the four-legged robot was a welcome edition to the crew. It was silent as well, but by Zha's choice and it was meant to keep her alive if she was ever to be unlucky enough to get into a fight.

Zha'Ora was, by nature, a coward. Always had been and she was ready to admit it too. Never in her life had she held a gun and felt confident about it. That one time when her father had given her a pistol to hold, she had shot her own thigh, puncturing the suit and spending the next few weeks in a disinfected bubble. After that, firearms had been a big no-no. Now Zha of course had mechs to guard her but before them, when it had only been Scribble… there had been many occasions when she'd been sure she would not survive.

17 flinched slightly when she tugged out a wire. She was not sure where this had been connected and it was completely tangled with the rest. Zha squinted her eyes, her helmet shielding the light from reaching the chassis and making her work twice as frustrating. She bit her lip in irritation, not at all happy. But if she had to tear 17 into pieces to properly put it back together, she was damn sure going to do it. She was ready to spend the next month on 17 if that meant she could get her little helper back on its feet.

A silent ping rang through the ship's weak PA system. Zha lifted her head in confusion. That was not really a sound she heard very often. Had she just imagined it?

Probably. She was already stressed out because of the not-as-dead-as-she-had-wanted-geth on her ship, now her nerves were just acting up on her, simple as that. She returned back to her work.

Ping.

There it was again. This time she was sure she had heard it.

"Scribble, report. What is that sound?"

"Is verbal communication allowed, once again?"

If her trusty virtual intelligent had been able to alter its voice from the forever-cheerful tone, it probably would have gone with something a bit more pouty. Scribble had a knack of picking up organic traits and now it seemed to be experimenting on sulking.

"You don't have to take my commands so seriously all the time."

"Acknowledged. The before mentioned sound was an attempt to get miss Ora's attention."

"Okay," Zha muttered, not really listening. She switched her Omni-tool to fine mechanics tools to remove the whole tangled mess from 17's chassis. "I'm listening."

"Incorrect statement detected. This unit would ask miss Ora's full attention."

"Fine, fine," the quarian sighed, retreating her glowed hands from her creation. "Is it about the geth?" Please don't let it be about the geth, please, please, _pretty please!_

"This unit has some propositions for VI-17's programming. Would you like this unit to forward them to your Omni-tool?"

"Yeah, sure," Zha mumbled, her hands finding their way back to the wide open robot's entrails. Her fingers found a loose screw and something that looked like a random piece of scrap metal from the mech's insides. She sure hadn't paid much attention to the poor thing when first building it. Well, now was a perfect time to mend that problem. Zha pulled out her Omni-tool to scan the motionless bot.

"The food rations brought from Omega have not been placed in the cargo hold," Scribble informed.

"What? Why the heck not?" Zha asked taking a glimpse at the tiny standardized clock at the bottom of her Omni-tool. "It has been two and a half hours since we left Omega! I specifically asked 13 and 14 to put those rations in the cargo hold. Why was this not done?"

"I did not wish to send them near the geth unit."

"What?" she asked. Scribble had spoken so silently Zha could barely hear anything from under the static.

"It was deemed dangerous to place food rations near the geth unit. A possibility of a sabotage was too great, this unit calculated that miss Ora would be in danger."

"Damn it, Scribble! You have no authority over my decisions! I considered those odds too, you know, and decided to go with it."

For a moment the ship was silent. Zha pulled her hands out of the mech, waiting for an answer.

"Yes miss Ora, of course. Apologies for this lack of better judgment. This unit will inform 13 and 14 immediately."

"Wait! Wait, there's no need. I'll take care of it tomorrow. What is the current location of the rations?"

"They are located just outside our guest's accommodations."

Zha stretched her neck to see behind VI-18 bulking body. Oh yeah. There they were. Look at that. Had she paid attention to anything else than the mech at hand she might have even noticed that.

"Yes, I'll do it. Tomorrow. And Scribble, it is not our guest."

"Of course, miss Ora."


	8. Chapter 8

Okay. She could do this. No problem. She was a grown-ass quarian. She could do this. Easy-peasy.

She had never really thought her cargo hold door to be menacing. Until now, that was. Zha's heart was thumping so loud she was sure it would soon burst through her chest and run away without her.

The rations were in three separate boxes, all different sizes and labeled to ease recognition. Getting them all to the cargo hold was not an easy task. First of all, they were heavy. Quarians in general were not the bulkiest of species in the Galaxy and Zha herself… well, she was below the average when it came to bodybuilding. Sure, she could order VI-05 to help her, it was simply standing there next to the door, doing absolutely nothing at all, but what would that prove? She was going to do this herself. Yeah. Sure. She'd drag the boxes in, tie them together to make sure nothing would get misplaced or fall. She'd also have to make sure nothing would bump into her vacuum-packed dextro-amino food packs. Infected food was a fast way to die alone in space. It was no laughing matter.

She'd done it before. Stacking her stuff, that was. Before her robotic crew had been built and it had only been her and Scribble in its drone form, Zha had been forced to move the heavy boxes all by herself, so she knew she could do it. She was a quarian on her Pilgrimage, ready to be recognized as an adult and adults were brave, right?

Well, if that was the case, Zha'Ora clearly wasn't an adult, quivering in her suit before a closed door.

VI-05 was regarding her passively, dulled photoreceptors looking at the indecisive quarian's direction as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Zone: Safe," VI-05 informed her for what must have been a third time. Its toneless voice did little to reassure Zha's anxiety but it did bring her back to her senses.

She shook her head to clear the disarrayed thoughts. She could not spend the rest of the day there, standing and doing nothing, now could she? Well, technically she could, there was no one to tell her otherwise. The ship was already on its way to the next checkpoint that promised loot to those brave and stupid enough to try. She was in no hurry, nothing was forcing her to step through that door to –

That was not helping.

VI-05's unwavering stare was starting to make her feel nervous. The mech had next to no conception of time, but there it was, ushering her to get in every five minutes or so, repeating the same line again and again. 05 had a very primitive vocabulary that was only meant for combat-based situations. There was no need for it to try to reassure her.

Nah, surely it wasn't trying to reassure her, it was just some random glitch. Zha'd better ask Scribble to look into the matter some time soon.

"Fine. Yes, I'll do it now!" she decided.

Zha did not take a step closer to the cargo hold door.

"Zone: Safe," VI-05 said dully.

"Yes… Thank you, 05, that is very nice of you to say. Um… Keep an eye on me while I'm in there, okay?"

"Affirmative."

Opening the door felt like pulling a space ship behind her through the deserted Homeworld. The air inside the cargo hold was musty, no doubt, but due to the ever so comfortable suits with faulty olfactory devices she was unable to smell pretty much anything. The geth platform had not moved from it spot, it was relieving to see that the binds had kept it from moving. It lifted its head, letting out a series of sputtering sounds that could only be described as surprised.

VI-05 moved to stand next to Zha with a shotgun in its hands.

"Scanning," it informed. "Zone: Safe. Enemy forces: Neutralized."

"Yes, thank you," Zha muttered, keeping her eyes on the boxes she was to move.

There were only three boxes to move, she reminded herself. Only three. It would take no time at all! And for the sake of the Ancestors, it was only a geth platform, a faulty one at that! She was safe, there was no problem here. So what if it was looking at her, no doubt condemning her actions. Oh, how guilty she felt, she was going to have this little piece of scrap killed soon.

No, no, for the last time _no_! She would not think about that. It was a robot. An AI, but still a synthetic. There was no emotion in there, that was geth basics one-o-one that every quarian learned at very young age. They were cannon fodder, that's all.

Stubbornly deciding to pay no attention to the damaged geth in the corner Zha grabbed the heaviest box of the bunch and started dragging it from the corridor to the cargo hold. The cardboard box was filled with bottles of water. The liquid would have to be filtered – of course – before drinking it but water was water. Without it, Zha would find her journeys across the Galaxy a great deal shorter due to a severe case of dehydration. Zha took out a roll of duct tape and started taping the box onto the ground. Sure, it wasn't the most sophisticated way of doing it, but it worked. With careful consideration this amount of water would last for three weeks, if she decided to clean herself and spend a week in bed after an infection they would last for a few days. Well, she'd cleaned the insides of her suit about three weeks ago, she could still go for a week or two without any trouble. It was getting itchy, sure. It was not one of those expensive, top notch suits with colorful decorations and beautiful belts, it was an old recycled piece of environmental suit that got torn too easy.

All the while she was working, the geth was looking at her. Every now and then she would take a peek at the synthetic taped to the wall. It was constantly making those chirping sounds; it was unnerving at best. Zha tried to gulp down her fear with little success. She could hear the clicking sounds of its expressive plates moving around as it scanned her. The young quarian's hands started shaking against her will.

"Query," it said finally, the single word shockingly clear in the cramped space.

Don't pay attention to it. Don't think about it, try to imagine it's not here at all, Zha told herself. Yes. She was all by herself, this was her good old ship, nothing could harm her here –

"Query," it repeated, raising the volume by a notch.

"B- b- be quiet," she said, trying to sound commanding but failing quite miserably. "I don't want to talk with you."

VI-05 was programmed to react to its creator's stress levels and use extreme prejudice against anything threatening. It gave out a clear warning to the geth by lifting the shotgun and resting it against the other automaton's head.

For a moment it seemed to work. The plates on top of the geth's head stopped moving and only the silent sound of its photoreceptor adjusting to the proximity of the muzzle could be heard.

Then it turned its gaze back on Zha.

"Query."

"Neutralizing enemy forces," 05 announced.

"No! Wait, no, don't do that. Stand down!" Zha shouted as the mech prepared to shoot the geth's head clean off. "It isn't showing any signs of hostility. Stand. Down." She had to bite her tongue not to add 'please' to the end of her command.

With motions that resembled grudging behavior VI-05 retreated the gun from the geth platform's head. The battle mech said nothing as it took one unsteady step back, keeping its eyes on the offending synthetic.

The geth let out a blur of sounds, whirring and clicking that made no sense to Zha. She had to gather herself before moving on. She still had work to do and the faster she could get it done, the sooner she would be out of the oppressive room.

Zha moved to pick up a next box, a bit lighter this one. It was filled to its brink with dried food, nutrients and paste that would hopefully last for at least half a month, maybe three quarters is she kept her diet at minimum. She huffed and puffed as she tried to get the box on top of the first one, spilling some of the tightly packed paste bags on the floor. She started hooking the box to its place.

For the rest of the time she spent on hooking and taping the third box – dried herbs, immuno-boosters and antibiotics – the geth did not try to communicate with her. It wouldn't shut up, but at least it wasn't saying anything coherent. To Zha's eyes to geth looked confused. Or maybe angry. Then again, those plate movements might mean that it was happy as well. That was, if the geth were actually able to feel anything at all.

Once the last box was at place, Zha felt relieved. She had survived! It hadn't been all that bad actually, she had had no reason whatsoever to feel threatened by the synthetic securely held against the wall.

She did wonder, though. If VI-05 had not interfered, what would the geth had asked? It could have been anything, really. Zha's experiences with mechanical beings circled around VIs, not AIs and there was a clear difference. Everything she had been taught about the geth seemed useless now. The platform in her position had actually been the first one she had seen in real life, active and all. For all she knew, it could have been a normal synthetic or a glitched problem case.

What would it have asked? What could it possibly have wanted to know?

Well, it didn't matter now, did it? The job had been done, the boxes were placed as securely as was possible with a few rounds of duct tape and even though the pile was a tad bit skewed, it would hold. Scribble was not going to start speed racing any time soon and even though the ship was old and rusty, the gravitational fields were working efficiently. She could just leave, lock the door and be done with it.

Zha gave a worried glance at the geth that still seemed to follow her every move with keen precision. She licked her lips nervously, hoping the gesture would stay hidden behind her gray visor. Okay. Time to leave.

The geth was going to die. Well, to get terminated would have been a more accurate term but in the end the semantics didn't matter. The mobile platform and the programs in it were going to cease to exist soon, and that was her fault. She was going to take this geth to the Migrant Fleet where it would be torn apart and all the information in its head would be uploaded for everyone to see. The mere thought of that happening to her made Zha feel sick to her stomach.

It needed to be done. It was either her or the geth and she was certain that as a logical creature the geth before her would not hesitate to kill her if given a chance.

She was going to get this creature, this intelligent creature, killed. She owed it some answers at the very least.

"Your, um… your query," she said slowly, words sticking to her throat. "What was it?"

The expressive plates ceased their movements, stopping on top of its head and waiting. It was only now that Zha noticed that one of those four plates was missing, torn out it seemed.

The geth did not say anything, just sat where it had been bound. Zha started moving around nervously, waving her hands indecisively.

"I… uh… I'm done with the boxes now. I can… I can answer a question or two, if you'd like." No, no, no, that sounded too pleading. She should have gone with the strong and commanding tone that she did not posses. "So… So… Uh… Ask now or you'll never get another chance!" That statement was full of fail. She was going to drop dead from embarrassment.

"Last time creator was in the vicinity of the platform, data was exchanged," the geth said, voice clear and articulated. "Transaction was cut short after only three point five minutes of conversation. During this time unexpected behavior was witnessed."

To tell the truth, Zha could hardly remember a thing from that day. She had been so scared she'd been ready to run if the geth made a move.

"I… uh…" she said intelligently. "I was… nervous. And scared." Keelah. She had not meant to say that! She was supposed to pretend to be in charge of the situation, not quiver like a child! This meeting was going wrong in so many ways.

"The creator was under the impression that this platform was bound securely. The creator was in no danger. The explanation is flawed."

"Uh… Yeah, well that was what happened."

"We also recorded creator apologizing to us."

"I… I don't remember doing that."

The expressive plates started moving again.

"I answered your question. Could I… Can I ask something from you?"

"Begin transaction."

She had not actually thought the geth would agree to give away information. She gave it a careful questioning look. Zha could see no aggression, no intended violence, but then again, it was an automaton. No one knew what it was thinking.

So, she had a chance to ask anything. Anything she wanted. What should she ask?

"When you crawled out of the cargo few days back you started… glitching. You were twitching around, looking like you were having a seizure. What was that all about?"

She felt foolish. She felt like she was going to get the hate from all of her kind if this somehow reached the ears of the general quarian public.

The platform stayed unresponsive for what felt like an eternity. Even the face plates were moving slower, minuscule waves letting her know it the geth had not shut down during her fumbling words. From one angle it almost looked like the platform was frowning.

"No data available," it said.

She waited. It stayed silent. No explanation as given. Zha frowned with displeasure.

"F-fine!" she said. "Be that way! But if… if you don't answer my questions, don't expect me to answer yours e- either."

She signaled VI-05 to exit the hold, following close behind. She had had enough of this for one day. For a week. A month. Keelah, hopefully she would not have to see the synthetic again until her eventual trip to the Migrant Fleet. She was just about to let the door close behind her, when the geth spoke up again.

"Consensus achieved," it said simply.

"Um… What?"

It lifted its head, light shining brighter from its flashlight head.

"We have agreed that relaying information to the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') about the unit's behavior is not detrimental to the geth community."

Zha halted by the door, frowning deeply behind her visor. Did that mean –?

"During the attempted escape this unit was trying to self-destruct in hopes of avoiding creator contact. Action was, at the time, impossible to execute and the platform was forced to shut down."

The door shut tightly between them, masking Zha's surprised look from the geth. She had not been expecting that answer, not really. But as far as she could tell, the geth did not lie. Well, it had said 'No data available', but she was quite certain its last remark had been true.


	9. Chapter 9

"I swear, this is the last place we're going to visit before going to the Fleet," Zha declared loudly.

For a moment she received no answer as the crew processed this statement.

"Affirmative," VI-14 said after a long pause.

"As you wish," Scribble said as well.

Zha wasn't sure why she was trying to seek acceptance from her crew but she knew that the only reason she was traveling towards this uncharted planet was the fact that she was a coward. And as one, she did what cowards did best: avoided her problems. Even with the geth on her cargo hold she was still coming up with numerous of plans that were just as insignificant as this one.

She had already exhausted her list of leads on possible looting places and was now running after some shady info bought from even shadier turian on Omega. According to him, there was an uncharted planet on a specific star system in Terminus that had hosted a hideout to Blue Suns until they had suddenly decided to pack up and leave. Zha had tried to ask why it had been abandoned, but the turian had just shrugged indifferently. The reason could have been anything from local wildlife to rivaling gangs.

The ship rocked from side to side when they entered the atmosphere. Zha took a seat and started to think. The turian had sworn this place would be empty, but Zha wasn't one to put herself knowingly in danger – not even when the call of loot grew very alluring. But she was running out of excuses to avoid her bigger problem, so scavenging it was. She was going to land on this strange little planet, but she wasn't going to do it alone.

"We are approaching the coordinates of the supposed base," Scribble said cheerfully. "We will be landing in approximately ten minutes. Please brace yourselves. Additional warning: The atmosphere of the planet is lacking of oxygen and I am regulated to advise you to wear an environmental suit at all times."

Zha was certain she had not programmed Scribble to understand the concept of humor so she let the remark slide.

"I'll take 14 with me, its pretty decent with handguns," Zha said. Previous trips to unknown planets had taught her some hard lessons on how to gather a proper landing party. Going alone was a good way to get killed but taking every single mech on the ship with her was an even better way to attract unwanted attention. "And 18 as well. I'm not sure how the terrain will be so four legs might be better than two down there. 10 will be our repair bot this time, 09 should stay in here in case something tries to get in without my permission."

"Noted," Scribble said. "Miss Ora, it might be beneficial to take 05 as well."

"Specify," Zha asked handing a pistol to 14. It was a rusty piece that ate heat sinks like crazy but it was all she'd been able to afford at the time.

"VI-05 is marked as the best battle mech, it also has the best shotgun on the ship. Switching VI-14 with VI-05 would raise the possibility of your survival notably."

"I need 05 in here," Zha said silently. "Keep it by the cargo hold door, make sure the geth does not get out."

"Affirmative," Scribble cheered.

She wasn't sure what exactly she was expecting the geth to do. So far it had behaved quite well considering its situation and it had not tried to get out and murder Zha in her sleep. But she did not want that thing moving freely on her ship, she did not want the damn thing unsupervised at any moment. She'd heard enough horror-filled tales from her father about the AIs meticulously killing every quarian they'd encountered. She was not going to let a thing like that loose on a small ship where no one could hide.

The surface of the planet was red like it had been covered with rust instead of sand. They had landed not far from a building marked with a Blue Suns insignia. The terrain was rough and uneven and Zha already knew 14 would be having a hard time moving around. She jumped out of the ship, watching as 18 scurried around like an over-eager varren.

The building wasn't that large on the outside but Zha's quick scans revealed a larger compound under ground. Good. The maze-like underground build would probably mean more loot. The door was naturally locked but things like that could not keep Zha out for long. She set her Omni-tool against the sun-heated surface of the door and started working the lock.

"Child's play," she said as the door opened. She'd unlocked locks more complicated when she was six. The doors opened with a painful groan, the rusty creeks echoing through the deserted base. Zha signaled 14 to move in first. It scanned the area, moving around slowly, pistol held high. Only when she heard a reassuring beep did Zha move in herself, 18 hopping behind her. The tiniest of her crew, little repair bot 10 was situated on VI-18's head, clicking its tiny claws to form a fast-paced rhythm.

VI-09 and 10 had been built after the destruction of 03, 04, 06, 07 and 08. A group of rat-tag pirates had decided to commandeer Zha's ship in hopes of finding something valuable. Taking an advantage of a lone quarian was like stealing candy from a child, Zha was hardly even considered a threat. 03 and 04 had been simple and small droids Zha had build only to have some company. They had no purpose and had been stumped like bugs upon the arrival of the pirates. 06 and 08 had been terminated while protecting their creator and had taken quite a few lowlifes with them before going down. 07 had been beyond repair and Zha had been forced to pull the plug herself later. Without 05's combat programming she would have no doubt died herself. After the attack all she'd have left were Scribble and 05, the latter being seriously damaged as well. That was when she'd decided they needed repair drones.

Of course, at first their programming had been quite basic, she'd ended up loosing the newer models, 11 and 12 on a around the Terminus system but after a bit more tinkering the repair drones had turned out to be quite potent. 13 and 14 had been attacked many times but so far the tiny spider-like drones had been able to fix everything. Sure, 16 had been crushed, but that had been an accident. 09 and 10 were both well programmed and an essential part of the crew.

The inside of the base was cold and musty. Out on top of the planet sun scorched the ground, making it hard to stay long in the shine but down here it was cold and all sorts of pale fungi were growing on the walls. Somewhere far of Zha could hear water dripping.

"Any signs of life?" she asked.

"Negative," 14 droned.

They moved downward.

Much to her dismay, it seemed like this place had been cleaned ages ago. All movables had been picked up and carried off somewhere. Scratches on the floor led towards the stairs and the front entrance but wet slime had covered most of the marks by now. Who knew how long this place had been abandoned. But Zha was not going to give up, this wasn't the first abandoned station she had looted. Something was always left behind, be it scrap or forgotten goods. Heck, there might even be some un-opened safes in the base. It wouldn't be the first time she stumbled upon little treasures like those. And they'd flown all the way to this forgotten planet in the middle of nowhere, the trip had drunk up fuels like crazy and that stuff wasn't for free. Zha was not going to leave empty-handed.

"18, search the rooms on the left hand side, come to me if you find anything of worth, anomalies too.14, stay with me."

But no matter how closely she examined the emptied rooms, they place seemed empty. The quarian scanned the walls in hopes of finding secret hideouts, ran her fingers along the crevices to spot hidden switches. Nothing.

She did find blotches of long since dried brown sustenance on the walls, though. Blood, her Omni-tool told her. Probably that of a human's. Zha didn't really feel the need to get worried about it. The splatters must have been years old, maybe even decades. Whatever had made those marks had moved on ages ago.

They spent looting for an hour and a half without any problems. They encountered no other dwellers, but Zha couldn't really say that the journey was a success either. All she'd been able to find was some unused heat sinks and a couple of cracked data pads but otherwise the place had been stripped clean. As much as Zha hated to admit it, the trip had been a bust and she'd gained nothing that would earn her any credits. And that, if something, made her peeved.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a silent sound.

Zha stopped her movements, freezing altogether. Beside her 14 stopped its movements as well, joints creaking and processors whirring silently. Zha perked up her hearing, tuning her suit's earpiece to its highest.

Nothing. Funny, she could have sworn she heard –

Rustling.

"What's VI-18's position?" she asked.

"One moment, please," 14 said, its voice too loud to her liking, echoing through the long corridors they had been walking along with just fine. "VI-18 is currently in the northern-most part of the building."

Another rustling sound made Zha almost jump out of her suit. There was something there with them. Something was moving along the corridors.

With some experience on looting Zha could tell that on nine times out of ten, whatever it was that lurked in the darkness, didn't like strangers raiding their lair. Zha's hands started shaking on their own accord and 14 perked up noticing its creator's elevated stress-levels.

Why was it that in her life, things tended to go very wrong very fast?

"Contact 18 and tell it to retreat at full speed, we're leaving this place immediately. Forget everything else, this place was a bust. Tell 18 to meet us outside the entrance," Zha spoke quickly, bringing out the map of the underground bunker. At that point her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't make any sense of the wavering image on her Omni-tool.

She was now speed walking, VI-14 keeping close behind. It was soothing to know that the mech was in high-alert state but if things went south, they might just end up trapped in this damn place.

Zha's feet slipped on the wet and slimy floor. She could hear some gurgling and moaning, an unmistakably organic sound. Slow dragging steps were approaching, something was definitely trying to reach them. The quarian quickened her pace so she was nearly running. Shit, shit, shit, this was not going to end well, she just knew it! Curse that bosh'tet turian and his intel.

She heard the sound again, but this time it came from another direction. How fast could this creature move? Or… Oh no. No, no! She did not want to believe that there could actually be multiple of these mystery creatures in this place. They'd done so well so far, they hadn't encountered any living beings at all. Had she kicked the hive or something?

"What's 18's position?" she asked whispering.

"VI-18 is currently approaching the entrance. VI-18 has not encountered any activities."

Good. Good. They were getting closer to the entrance as well. Zha lifted up her Omni-tool to see the crude map it had constructed according to their findings. They were almost there.

But things never work that easy. Never.

When she first saw the creature, she thought she was imagining things. She thought she was seeing things that were not there, that the looming darkness made the moving piece of flesh look worse than it actually was but when the creature stopped and turned its ugly head towards her, she realized that coming to this place had been a really bad idea.

It had a distinct look of a human. And by distinct, Zha thought, she meant there was really nothing else she could think of to compare it to. Its eyes were glowing in the dark with a synthetic light, its head tilted to the side and mouth hanging open. The thing was staring at her and her robotic companion with its unintelligent eyes, a body looking like it was made out of synthetic and organic parts. Zha took a careful step back.

It let out the most unnatural roar she had ever heard.

"Initiating battle sequence," 14 said.

"Abort! Abort! Run to the exit! We're leaving this place!"

The scrawny creature was not fast. It looked clumsy on its feet, the upper part of its body dragging down like the thing wasn't able to coordinate its movements correctly. Its arms waved around when it threw itself at Zha and 14. What the hell was that thing?

They quickly gained some distance from it, Zha was breathing so hard her visor started to fog up again. Perfect. Just what she needed.

That was when another creature, nearly identical to the first one came running around the corner and threw itself at Zha, knocking them both down in the process. The quarian got a good look at the thing when it tried to grab her neck with its spindly fingers. It was hideous and looked like it had been dead for decades.

"Miss Ora under attack. Initiating protective sequence."

14 ripped the thing off her, throwing it aside and shooting its head to pieces with the gun. Huh. The pistol actually was capable of killing something. You learn something new every day, Zha thought getting back on her feet.

Her mechanic companion turned to fire at another creature running down the hall. Zha shouted in frustration.

"No, no, I said run!" she shrieked, but 14 did not seem to listen. Whether it was a glitch on its programming or something else, it was not supposed to be able to override her commands. But it did. It shot a grotesque creature once, twice, three times before one of them fell down with an agonizingly metallic screech.

But they were not done. More of them were coming left and right and Zha knew for a fact that even if 14 had been installed with master marksman's programs that enabled it to kill with one shot, the gun would over-heat and the heat sinks would run out before the mech could drop all of these creatures.

Zha grabbed the shoulder paneling of 14, nearly dragging it behind her as she ran. It took up running as well and they sprinted towards the exit. More and more of those human-looking things were emerging. They started crawling up through holes on the floor, moaning as they moved.

Recognition hit her in the head as she was running for her life. She'd heard of things like these before. On the news a few years back. Yes, there had been that human colony under geth attack. What was it that these things had been called?

Oh yeah. Husks. These things were husks. Great. Now she knew what was going to be the death of her. How nice.

By some miracle they made it to the entrance in one piece. 18 had already prepared for battle, jumping at the approaching husks and sending electric shocks down their moving corpses.

"No, you stupid tin cans, we are leaving! Leaving! Keelah!"

"Survival of miss Ora is primary objective, survival of VI-10, -14 and -18 secondary," VI-14 said.

"What? No!" she shouted. "I didn't program that. Do as I say! Override sequence C-42-Q – "

"Negative, overriding sequence has not been acknowledged. Please locate ship at once."

Zha did not understand what was going on. But the husks were coming, they kept pouring out of every little hole on the hidden base, the only way she was going to get out of this alive was leaving and fast. So she ran. Zha and her mechs ran out through the door and into the scorching light of the sun.

Her ship was there already, no doubt summoned by either 14 or 18. It was hovering in the air, welcoming them home. 18 leapt in, turning to drag the squirming quarian by her hood in. 10 was with the big four-legger and 14 was the last to arrive.

But it didn't. Zha turned back to see the mech surrounded by those humanlike husks, they were gathering on top of it, preventing movement. It was not even fighting anymore, just watching at the hovering space ship.

"VI-05!" Zha shouted. "You are needed at the airlock ASAP!"

"Miss Ora, leaving the planet immediately is deemed necessary," Scribble informed.

"No, no, no! Keelah! Is no one listening to me anymore?!" she cried hysterically. "Get 14 on board right now!"

None of her trusted mechs and drones were doing anything to help and all Zha could do was watch in horror as VI-14 was ripped to pieces before her eyes. When the airlock was closed and the ship rose to fly out of the atmosphere of the red planet, Zha was sitting in shock, unable to move a muscle.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note:** _Well, well. Haven't updated in ages. Does anyone still care? Found this fic collecting dust on my computer, poor thing left unattended for so long. Probably should get on that…_

_Sorry if someone was actually waiting for this. I think I'll get at least two chapters out this weekend, see if I can flex my writing muscles a bit. _

_We'll see how this goes._

* * *

_VI-02 (Scribble): Miss Ora is currently not onboard. Do you wish to relay a message to her?_

_AI775: Negative, sending message not required_

_VI-02 (Scribble): As you wish. Are your accommodations up to your liking?_

They had to think for a while. Either the VI on charge of the ship was not as advanced as they had previously thought or it had been installed with an ability to understand and use the organic oddity known as humor. A strange thing to install into a mere VI, but it was the only option they found believable enough.

_AI775: Affirmative_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Logging you out!_

Creator by the designation 'miss Ora', had been gone for hours now and every thirty minutes they tried to reach her through the communication link formed with the ship's VI but were disappointed. Every time the VI asked if they wanted to leave a message and they said no. In the cramped cargo hold they had little to nothing to do, and lack of processing could be fatal to geth programs. Shutting down was not an option either, even though this creator did not seem like an immediate threat, she might still take an advantage of an unresponsive platform. And they were still unaware of the creator's plans on when they would be taken to the Migrant Fleet. More information was required and they were lacking a pastime.

Another half an hour went by and they decided to put their platform's functionality into test. Both of its upper limbs were now operational, although the upper left limb's working efficiency was only 72,3%, well below normal levels. They were unable to rotate it fully, something must have been out of place in there. Well, it wasn't like the platform could move much anyway, the lack of movement caused by the binds. But they hypothesized that the rotary movements would be prevented even if they could try it.

After exactly thirty minutes from the last check up, they contacted the ship's VI once again.

_AI775: Requesting a change of data with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora')_

They waited for six seconds. It was longer than they usually had to, it equated to several minutes of awkward silence to the geth.

_AI775: Requesting a change of data with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora')_

Still no answer. This was getting peculiar.

So they waited. And waited. That was the logical thing to do. They waited for exactly thirty minutes before they contacted VI-02 with the exactly same message.

This time, they got their answer.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Cease these attempts to contact miss Ora, miss Ora will not talk to you._

_AI775: Query: Why does creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') not wish to communicate with the platform?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Geth platform AI775 is not permitted to ask such questions. Please cease any attempts to contact miss Ora._

The communication link was cut off immediately and they were once again left in their solitude.

Geth did not do well when isolated from others of their kind. One geth program could do only little things, like one cell of an organic body, or maybe one organ would be a better comparison. But when a platform was filled with multiple programs, they became more and more intelligent. And when many geth platform's gathered together, their knowledge grew even greater. But alone, even a platform with a notable amount of programs in it would before long go – using the organic terms – mad. And they, the programs in the mobile platform by a serial number of AI775 had been alone for a very long time.

There had been others in the room, the room on the other station, others locked with them just as trapped as they had been. Some of them had managed to self-destruct even with all the new installations, others had been destroyed by the Overseer's team. Even the programs had been terminated, unable to upload themselves to a safe place before the eminent doom. They, the 468 programs in the platform AI775 had been the last ones.

There were more in them now, of course, at least twice as many. Some of them were desperate programs looking for an escape from termination, but most of them were a gift from the Overseer.


	11. Chapter 11

It took three days for anyone to enter the cargo hold. Two mechs came in and they couldn't see a third one. The one usually situated outside the cargo door was nowhere to be seen. The first one was a four-legged mech, welded out of FENRIS parts and scrap metal. They decided that terminating this one would be easy, it's head looked like it was attached poorly and would come off with minimal force. The one following it, though, could prove to be a larger threat. It was far more sophisticated than the four-legged mech. Someone had stamped a sticker on its head that read: "Lucky thirteen" in quarian.

No data was exchanged as the two-legged thing moved to pick up nutrients from one of the boxes brought by the creator from before. It picked up two packs of powdered food supplies from the bottom box, one bottle of water from the middle and a plastic bag filled with herbs from the top box while the other one kept watch. Then it left, without a word, the four-legged machine following close behind.

The door moved to close, but stopped just short from shutting, malfunctioning at the right moment, leaving the cargo hold open for the rest of the ship. It moved back and forth a few times as if trying to shut, then stopped completely, halfway open.

_Scanning immediate vicinity_

_Scanning…_

_Scan complete_

_No organics found_

_No synthetics found_

_Area clear of enemy forces_

This was their chance. A moment had presented itself and it would be illogical not to take it. Their possibility of survival was low, they would most likely get caught before reaching an escape pod but perhaps they could find a way to dispose of their body, terminating themselves manually.

Getting rid of the binds was almost too easy. They flexed both of the upper limbs, trying them against the plastic binds. The grey substance was frail, softened and sticky, keeping close to the platform even after being removed from the wall. The slim white plastic binds snapped under pressure.

They got up on the platform's lower limb, the only one remaining. They would not be able to move as quickly with one limb missing but they deduced moving silently on one leg was more optimal than dragging the platform with the two functional upper limbs. Less noise would be produced and that would help their escape attempts.

The platform hobbled to the door, scanning the area vigorously. No mechs could be spotted, nor did they see any creators.

Apparently there was currently only one organic habiting the ship. Seeing a creator on a ship filled with mechs was uncommon, usually the creators were… what was the organic word they were looking for? Queasy. Creators tended to be queasy around mechs due to their history with the geth. Neither side had forgotten about Morning War. But this creator, this 'miss Ora', was travelling across the Galaxy with at least five mechs, maybe more.

The ship was more quiet than usual, there was no detectable vibration from the machinery and they couldn't detect any acceleration or decrease in movement common in old ships like this. They deduced that the ship must have been docked somewhere, perhaps an organic space station such as Citadel or Omega.

The platform's audio receivers picked up voices coming from somewhere further along the ship. Their movement was restricted, with every uneven step they had to calculate everything again to keep their posture. This unit had been simple, a standardized geth platform made to be used as trooper before the Overseer had started modifying them. But without their lower right limb they were unable to fully adjust to this new situation. Under normal circumstances injuries such as these would have lead into immediate repairs, but now they were separated from both the geth as a whole and the Overseer's team. They had little choices left.

The noises were louder now. The creator's voice was recognized and the high-pitched feminine voice of VI-02 was unmistakable, saved onto the platform's memory file as an anomaly.

" – was part of their programming, nothing more."

"Shut up about the programming! I programmed them myself! They are supposed to do as I tell them to, not what they calculate is the best option at the time! They are VIs!"

"Miss Ora – "

"Don't you dare 'miss Ora' me, I've had enough of your shit! Did you program 14 to act that way?"

"Such freedoms have not been given to – "

"I don't give a damn about the freedoms I've given you, I want an honest answer! 14 was not intelligent enough to override its commands, out of all the others on this ship only you can do that, so now, one more time. Did you program 14 to dismiss my orders?"

They did not stay to listen to the rest of the conversation; they need to leave the vessel before their escape attempts are intercepted. So far they have been able to choose their pace correctly and no mech has crossed their way. Initial scans tell them the ship is rather small, finding the exit should be easy. Most likely an airlock should be found near the cockpit or at the end of the ship. On 65% of most common space ships in the galaxy the exits are located near the cockpit to ensure the safety of pilots, 27% of the times at the back, when cargo is considered more valuable than the organics flying and on the remaining 8% the exit was located on some other, less specific location. They decided to move to the cockpit to see if this ship followed the norm.

They lost footing only for a millisecond, their foot stepping onto something left on the ground. A wrench. Their platform tilted dangerously to one side as the wrench beneath their foot causes their balance to change its center and suddenly their calculations are all wrong. Leaving equipment lying around was a safety hazard, anyone could trip and fall on them, but that didn't seem to bother the creator. The wrench went flying against a wall, colliding with a loud bang that echoed through the silent ship.

A mistake they didn't have time to ponder over.

Behind them, the sounds of argument grew silent and after fours seconds of stillness the creator came running out of a room they predict might be a kitchen or a similar sort of an area.

"What in the name of the Homeworld – " the creator started up before noticing the platform leaning against a wall for support. "Where the hell is 05?" she screeched, turning around. "13, 15! Why was I not informed of this, Scribble?"

"Apologies, the escape of our guest was not noticed."

Creator's breathing was irregular, stance rigid and hands lifted as if to shield her from harm. Possibility of an attack was 89,5% but an unarmed creator of her stature would most likely not be able to cause any permanent damage. Even with their platform this damaged they might be able to disable her, it was the other mechs they needed to worry about.

"Get back to the cargo hold," she said, voice trembling slightly. "Please."

That was not expected. The word 'please' was considered a courtesy, a word spoken by an organic to another when trying to be civil. It was rare to be heard by geth audio receivers and even more rare when directed to a geth platform. The little that remained of the collective memory of the geth let them know that this was indeed rare, but it might have only been because of the limited time spent around creators since the Morning War. They processed this word for 2,7 milliseconds.

"Negative. Escaping the ship is primary objective, terminating creator not required." They thought for a moment and achieved a consensus. "Step aside and you will not be harmed. Please."

Under the grey visor the creator regarded the platform with an expression they were unable to decipher. The creator looked tired, eyes thin slits shining through the darkness behind her thick mask. After 12 seconds of intense consideration the creator let out a long breath, fog covering the front of her visor.

"An exit is located by the cockpit. Scribble, ready the airlock, our guest is leaving."

There was a 56% possibility of a trap, they thought. A creator would not be this keen to get rid of a platform that was still functional. They understood there was a human saying that the geth platforms were worth their weigh in gold, a soft and pliant precious metal used in some electronics and organic trinkets. That, according to their research, meant that they were very valuable. Creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora) had multiple armed VIs on board that would have been more than capable of defeating the platform without any casualties on the crew if she chose to give the order. She shouldn't have been this keen to let them go.

"Are you certain, miss Ora?" VI-02 asked, finding flaws in the organic's logic as well.

"Yes," the creator said, turning around, leaving her backside unguarded, open for an attack. "Make sure it leaves quickly and doesn't return. I've had it with surprises, anomalies and all that_._ Who knows what 13 and 15 would do? Or would it be 05 this time? He's getting old."

They noticed the usage of word 'he' on a mech designated as VI-05 and saved the information for later use. The creator was not looking at them, was not acknowledging them. Attacking and terminating creator now would not be hard. But that would risk an attack from the remaining VIs on the ship. Consensus was achieved and they hobbled out of the ship without another encounter.


	12. Chapter 12

They had killed 14. Those things, those synthetic-organic zombies had killed 14, ripped it apart and left it there in pieces. And for what? Sure, Zha had made it out alive and unharmed, she hadn't even punctured her suit for once, 18 and 10 had come out of it clean as well, but those thing had _killed 14!_

The correct term would have of course been terminated. They terminated VI-14, it had not been an AI, so death wasn't actually a word that suited the situation. But Zha didn't care about any of that. She had built it, taken care of it and given it an ability to speak. It had been her trusty VI and now that damnable piece of scrap was gone, never to be seen again. And it was her fault.

This thing, this useless little trip had supposed to be her last round, her last chance to see the Galaxy before going to those stuck-up ass hats of the Migrant Fleet. She'd had her offering, she'd had all she needed and even with all that she had decided to sidetrack to kill some time. Hadn't gone all that well, now had it? 14 was gone and with it her wanderlust. All the Galaxy's unseen destinations could remain unseen for all she cared. And what had she done next? Why, let the geth hop out of her ship on one foot, almost waving it good-bye as it went. She hadn't lifted a finger to stop it.

So now that Zha was finally ready to go, she found herself sans an offering. Won-der-ful. Good planning, great success.

Zha had never really been the one to drink any substances that might mess with her cognitive thinking. She'd seen what turian alcohol did to her mother and decided it was not her thing. But right now, resting her head against the smallest of kitchen counters in her ship she hoped she'd have something, anything. The drink wouldn't even have to be that sturdy to get this little quarian spinning, she'd probably lose her pace with a tumbler of beer but she just wanted something to numb her mind.

They were currently docked on a shitty little space station in the middle of great empty nothing. _Shangri La_ it was called, run by mostly humans, and it offered nothing but accommodation for travellers, fuel for passers-by and sneers for quarians. That was the place she found herself in. She doubted she'd even be able to find dextro-amino food in place like this, but staying in her cramped ship made her feel dodgy. She didn't want to look at her crew, didn't want to see them right now. Scribble had weird ideas on making her feel better, none of which had worked so far.

Somewhere on this pit stain of a station was a one-legged geth. Whether it was still functional or not, Zha could not give a damn. Once the glitch of a thing had left her ship it had been no business of hers. As she climbed out of her ship, she hoped she wouldn't run into it on her way.

"_Miss Ora,_" Scribble called through her Omni-tool. "_I would advice taking at least one of us with you. VI-13 is coming with – "_

"No," Zha said stubbornly. "All of you stay in the ship. Make sure no one gets in." With that she terminated the connection to the cheerful VI, making sure none of them would bother her search for a drinking hole on this station.

The place wasn't big, not by any comparison. There were a few apartment complexes built into the station, one shop for travellers and only a handful of ports. But you couldn't build a human space station without putting a bar there somewhere and all Zha had to do was find it.

It wasn't that hard, really. She just had to follow the drunken yelling.

The bar was situated in the darkest corner of the station. Zha didn't even pretend to read its name as she sauntered in. It wasn't like it was going to matter in the end. There was an asari behind the counter, a matron by the looks of it and for a moment the young quarian felt better. At least she wasn't the only "alien" on board. But when the blue-skinned barmaid gave her the evil eye, Zha gave up all hope and just slouched on her bench.

"Just give me something that won't kill me in the long run," she said, a sound of defeat ringing from her words.

"We don't have any of those," the matron said, a slight sneer on her voice. "But we got some turian cider in here. It's not strong, it's not good and it won't get you drunk unless you decide to drink your own weight of it."

"Sounds perfect."

The dimly lit bar had only a handful of patrons in it that kept to their own separate corners. They didn't even look at her direction when Zha was given a glass of cider with a straw thin enough to fit through her induction port. The glass was not clean, the straw was not sanitized and the alcohol had most definitely not been filtered but she drank anyway. She'd get sick. That wasn't a guess, it was a fact. She'd get sick and her body would want to throw up the contaminating liquids. Knowing this she still drank anyway.

Coming here alone was probably one of her more stupid ideas. But what would have been the point of bringing her mechs here just so they could just start disobeying her again? Faithful servants? Bah! As if. VI-14 had decided to flip a bird at her orders and get scrapped.

What would father say? Oh, she knew what father would say, for sure. She'd heard what father had said when he'd crushed Zha's first mech under his heel.

"We do not build AIs," she repeated her father's words aloud. "We do not build life. We build servants that serve without second-guessing our words. We do not build souls, we build husks."

Husks. The mere word brought bad taste to her lips and Zha tried to cover it with the bitter tasting drink. Her father had not meant those zombie creatures when he'd said that, of course he hadn't, but it still made Zha feel miserable. Horrified, really. Ora family did not build AIs, not anymore. That age old tradition had been brought down by a handful of laws and a big fat war with the geth.

She did not blame the geth – she must have been one of the most rare quarians in the Galaxy. She did not blame the synthetic race, nor did she really blame her own. Things had happened. Why should they care? Sure, they were helmet-wearing shun out race travelling on one of the biggest fleet in the Galaxy. They were supposed to be a tight-knit society, where people stood by each other and protected each other from the outside world. That hadn't spared her parents from getting the Flotilla. It didn't make her ascension to the Fleet any easier either. What else could she bring to them? The geth platform had been a heaven-sent, a gift from the Ancestors. So what if she'd felt squeamish about keeping it in her cargo hold, it had been her key to success.

Well, it was gone now. There was no point going after it. For all she knew it was already dismantled, lifeless carcass somewhere on this lousy station.

Zha'Ora was a coward by nature. That she was ready to admit even before the Admiralty Board. Going to meet the Migrant Fleet with an insufficient gift would not work, going back to her father to tell him that she had not even tried would be even worse. And after her last little stunt, going out adventuring in the Galaxy with a crew of bots that might at any point decide to disobey her didn't feel like such a tempting idea. It would have been stupid, irresponsible of her.

What did she have left? Not much, really. A decent amount of credits that would not buy her a house, a ragtag team of robots that she – after all they've been through – was not willing to sell or discard and a ship that no one would buy. Hurrah for the quarian daughter, Ora by the name, spelled with misery.

She slurped the rest of her drink in, feeling an unfamiliar buzz of warmness spreading. Oh great. Was the fever setting in already? No, this was not it. She should drink her weight in this shit to get drunk, huh? Zha was ready to put that theory to a test.


	13. Chapter 13

Being a quarian was hard work.

It was really hard to understand the extents of what their kind had to go through to live their day-to-day life if you were from different species. There were plenty of things that needed to be considered before doing pretty much anything.

For example, copulating outside of the Migrant Fleet's sterile environment. That was a hard progress that needed to be done with care. If a quarian couple wanted to have a child together, there were plenty of things to do before getting to the actual primal part of it. First the two of them had to link their suits, well before any actual skin contact. This would ensure that there was a smaller chance for infection to occur after the act. It rarely helped, but in a way it was part of the romance of it all. A couple would both go through the symptoms of fever and other such trouble after this linking, getting used to the other's suit conditions. This could take from weeks to months. Then, after or during this linking progress, a suitable place for babymaking had to be chosen. A sanitized room with as little contaminants as possible was desirable, but no place could be cleansed enough to make sure neither of the parents would make it without infections. After a short skin contact and as much time as needed, the couple would have to seal themselves once again and wait to see whether the insemination had been successful or not. If not, all had to be started from a scratch, suit linking and all. Copulating was not considered a pleasurable act between quarian couples, more like a chore. It needed to be done to ensure their species survival. But there was so much to be done, so much sickness to ensure just to see one tiny quarian make it through. The process of giving birth was even worse.

These were Zha's thoughts as she was kneeling outside the bar she'd just been thrown out of, considering whether or not her own vomit would soon color her visor.

She'd gotten three glasses of that odd tasting junk before they'd said that she'd had enough. Hah! Either she had shrunken after her last weighting or she had not been given as much as she'd promised. The barmaid had clearly told her to drink her body's weight of it and she had been left lacking. What a terrible drinking establishment! Robbing its customers from all hope of actually getting drunk!

The world around her was swaying. Or maybe it was just the alcohol in her, making her unsteady. Or then it was the fever. Oh yes, the fever. A good old friend of hers, a hot and cold taste of her body fighting against whichever germ had managed to find its way to it this time. Fever was good, her father had said, fever meant your body was fighting. And as long as Zha could remember, her body had always fought the infections with force that made her go weak in the knees and heavy in the head. Now there was a sign of bravery right there! Yippee, she was not a coward, she thought heaving a long, dry cough. Her body was fighting bravely to get rid of the alcohol in her right on that very moment!

There was no use sitting there, giving the humans something to laugh at. She needed to get back to her ship before the fever would get the better of her. Losing consciousness in the middle of a strange space station was a good way to get mugged, killed and a good bunch of other unpleasant things. She needed to get going when the going was still good.

Zha had to try a few times before she made it to her feet, her knees wobbling slightly under her weight as she zigzagged on. She was given odd looks, some humans shouting profanities after her. Nothing new with that, Zha had grown up with hateful slurs. The thing was, you didn't trust someone whose face you couldn't see. One kid at her home colony had shared that little wisdom with her when she'd still been a knee-high quarian. You don't trust them, so you don't like them either. That's how it worked.

That was really funny, Zha thought, 'cause that should have meant the quarians would not trust each other either, but they were considered to be one of the most social creatures in the Galaxy. How nice, her kind was supposed to be social and she chose to spend her days with unintelligent robots. Maybe it was because her own people didn't trust her. And that had nothing to do with masks, faces or anything like that. They did not like her because her last name was spelled O for an outsider, R for radical and A for a… a… a…

She could not come up with any good word that started with an A. A shame? Hah! Yes, there it was, A was for a shame. And an exile, a traitor, a daughter…

AI.

Zha tripped on her own feet, finding herself falling face first onto the gritty ground. Tiny morsels of metal and sand scraped against her helmet, making the visor whine as a few more laugh lines were drawn to its surface. Great. She'd be forced to buy a new one soon. She'd used to get these sorts of things from a quarian vendor in Omega, but now that he had suddenly decided to pack up and leave she was in trouble. Ordering stuff via Extranet was so expensive these days.

Damn. Drinking had been a lousy idea, she thought. Someone should have told her this before. Zha climbed back on her feet, head swimming in some other realm already. To be honest, if someone had told her to think about this magnificent idea of hers, she would have laughed at their faces and left anyway.

If she wasn't so damn pissed at her current crew, she would have probably called one of them to pick her up, her Lucky Thirteen would have picked her up no problem if she wanted to, but she didn't. Who knew what those bastards would do to her, all acting so strange around her, silly things.

VI-13 had been built with its comrades, 11 and 12 after the untimely demise of 07 and 08. She'd taken them all to a planet on Argos system to search for a wrecked ship. It was not her style, but a human woman had asked her to bring some records from it in exchange of some credits, something about a missing relative or something. She'd gone with the three newest additions to her crew only to find that the ship had become a home to a pack of local creatures she did not recognize. They'd torn through 11 and 12 like they'd been made out of paper but 13 had gotten a few lucky shots in and gotten rid of the pests. VI-13 had been an unsophisticated build at the time and Zha had seen to it that afterwards she showed it some extra care, updating it over the intelligence of its comrades. It had taken the combined knowledge and strength of both repair drones, Scribble and herself to get 13 working again, but it was still her Lucky Thirteen, named after some sort of human belief in lucky and unlucky numbers.

"Damn Lucky," Zha muttered to herself when her feet took her to a wrong direction. She had been sure she was steering her steps towards the docking bay but this was _definitely_ not the docking bay. This was… this was… well, it looked like a scrap heap, but she wasn't sure. So much to scavenge, Zha thought. And if she did not fear the thought of getting shot out there, she probably would have. She hiccupped silently, giggling to herself as she turned around.

Oh wait, who was that over there, her sluggish brain asked.

What? Where?

Over there, lying on top of that old speeder.

Oh that? Don't worry about it, its just some old geth.

Zha blinked slowly, not sure if she was seeing right. She tried to wipe her visor as if that was going to help something. No, she was seeing what she was seeing alright. That looked to be the exactly same geth platform she'd pulled out of that abandoned station and let go on this one. Except this one had been shot several times, it was now missing both of its arms and its left leg looked like it had been broken. And it was offline as well.

"Hi there, buddy," she said happily, dropping down next to it, resting her back against the speeder. "You don't look so… so… good, you know. You look… hmm… bad."

The platform did not answer, it did not move. The light on its photoreceptor had dimmed, offline as well, it had was as lifeless as a geth could be.

"You had more limbs when we last saw," she said cheerfully, starting to sound like Scribble. "Two to be exact. Sucks to be you, right?"

No answer.

"We never had any formal introductions. My name is Zha'Ora, a daughter of exiles, so vas-Nedas, planning to become vas Neema, or vas Rayya, or, heck, vas Qwib-Qwib if I have to. Just give me a ship, Keelah."

The platform let out long hissing sound, crackles of static leaving its vocal transmitter and light blinking on its photoreceptor. Alive after all. Color her surprised.

"Scribble was kind enough to inform me that your platform's code is AI775. How suiting, an AI on my ship, named AI-something. It's fate, I tell you. The Ancestors wanted this to happen! Keelah se'lai!" she shouted, suddenly loosing the control of her neck muscles, plopping her head against the speeder behind her. The metallic ground based vehicle let out a hollow bang.

Zha watched the ceiling above her. It was made out of metal, spare pieces welded together to keep the cold vacuum of space out and the people inside alive.

She grabbed the platform by its head turning it to look at her when she spoke.

"Neither of us really are where we thought we would be, am I right?"


	14. Chapter 14

_ERROR! ERROR! _

_Platform has been damaged, self-destruction advisable_

_Warning! Attempted self-destruction detected, shutting down immediately!_

_Restarting…_

_Please stand by_

_ERROR! ERROR!_

_Platform has been damaged, self-destruction advisable_

_Warning! Attempted self-destruction detected, shutting down immediately!_

They were in a loop, an endless circle of shutting down and trying to, as organic terms go, die. Unable to do so, they were forced to repeat the same procedures, again and again, hoping against hope that on one occasion the programming would finally give in and they would not have to online again.

Hope was not something that was programmed into geth units. No, it was an organic flaw in their software. It must have found its way to this platform with one of the Overseers programs, an accident made by humans. The geth would never bother themselves with such, they only trusted carefully calculated probabilities and if something didn't go as they had predicted, they only needed to recalculate.

At the moment, caught in their loop, they were unable to calculate anything at all and that was where the unexplained virus of false hope had snaked its way into their hive-mind. They did not have time to ponder over the lost thought, to remove it from their processor. They were far too busy trying to die.

They had been shot on sight. They had already known it would happen, had counted on the first organic they would meet shooting them to kill. What they had not expected was for those shots to be insufficient to terminate them. Such a disappointment. They had not been online when tossed to this heap of dead metal and rust and they had not been online when the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora) had found her way to them.

The geth were unable to get tired or bored, but after shutting down and restarting for 541 times they gave up, rerouting their restart process and burying the thoughts of offlining somewhere deep. The platform's photoreceptor came online, blinking weakly.

_Checking platform for damage_

_Stand by, scanning…_

_Upper right limb: ERROR! No data found_

_Upper left limb: ERROR! No data found_

_Lower left limb: Working efficiency at 45%, loss of conductive fluids, broken cording, movement restrained, most likely unable to hold weigh, commencing self-reparations immediately, estimated time until finished: ERROR!_

_Lower right limb: ERROR! No data found_

_Chassis: Working efficiency at 62%, several gunshot-based holes on the chassis, loss of conductive fluids_

_Head: Crack on photoreceptor, received pictures hazy and shaken, depth perception damaged, expressive plates 1 and 3 jammed, 4 missing since last scan, wiring has been removed_

They were a mess. Self-destruction would have been the only logical solution, had they been able to –

_Warning! Attempted self-destruction detected, shutting down immediately!_

_Restarting…_

They tried focusing their photoreceptor to the creator next to the platform. It took longer than usual to adjust their vision, something broken along the way from their photoreceptor to their central processing functions. The female creator was regarding them with dull eyes, scanning them without a word. Her mouth would seem to be slightly open, fog forming on the visor under the creator's heavy breath.

Signs were suggesting the creator was either heavily sedated or inebriated. They were unable to draw a conclusion based on the relatively small amount of information they had on this creator.

All they knew about this one was that she was out of her mind to sit down next to a geth. Creators did not do that. They just didn't, it was a fact proven by empirical evidence. But there she was, looking dazed, heart bumping rapidly.

"Q- q- qu- qu- que- query," the managed to say. Their vocal transmitter had been shot, a bullet had grazed it, ripping it nearly to pieces.

"Ask away," the creator said. Her voice was cheerful, a bright contrast against the stuttering words she had used before.

They were unable to form words that made any sense to the creator. They wanted to inquire what the female organic was doing in there and whether or not she was planning to capture the platform again, if she wanted to put them back in the room and if they should initiate escape plans.

_Illogical. Escape at this moment improbable, self-destruction recommended_

_Warning!_

They managed to avoid shutdown, but only barely.

"I lost 14 a few days back," creator Ora said silently when it became imminent that the platform was not going to communicate. "I saw it get torn apart. I mean, Keelah, it was just a damn VI, it did not know what it was doing it didn't… Nah, it knew what it was doing, but it didn't understand the _consequences_. Death. It just calculated that for my survival, its sacrifice was needed. I did not program them like that, damn it! I programmed them so I didn't have to watch any more of them die!"

Die. A verb used to describe the termination of an organic, the stopping of a beating heart, a loss of life. Not a term used on synthetics. But here they were, both the geth collective and the creator using same words to describe termination inaccurately.

"I didn't want him to die, Ancestors be damned. I c- can't t- t- take it anymore!"

Creator's vocal transmitter was glitching, causing the audio come out clipped, low. Signs were indicating either a flu causing her mucous membrane to produce excessive amounts of saliva, or creator Ora was crying.

For 14 minutes, 45 seconds neither of them moved, the platform due to their damage and the creator due to unknown errors in her programming. The programs within platform AI775 knew that this was a prime example of a moment when reassurance could help an organic to rewrite their programming to get over the haywire emotions. Reassurance might even help quarian-geth relations, there was a 24% chance of improvement on the shared relationship between this specific quarian and the hive residing within AI775, but they were unable to do anything but let out a series of static filled codes. The creator did not seem to be aware, the (supposedly) alcohol induced state taking over her nervous system and making her shut down where she was sitting. Creator Ora's head lolled down, a long sound of vibrating vocal chords making noise. She was… snoring.

They were not sure why, but the company felt… not conflicting. They stayed online to make sure nothing would try to sneak up on the platform or the creator while the organic slept.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a rude awakening if there ever was one.

Quarians were not built to ingest alcohol, they rarely made any themselves, since their bodies didn't exactly know what to do with it. They did not have internal organs built to break down the toxic alcohol molecules.

In other words: a quarian hangover really was something.

Loud chirping and sputtering right next to Zha's ear woke her up. Opening her eyes had never felt as painful as it did on that morning. Even though her visor filtered most of the dim light of the station, it wasn't enough to stop her eyes from watering at the sight and her head aching something awful.

"Not now, 18, my head is loose," she mumbled, resting her hand against something that most certainly was not the four legged mech.

Waking up next to a geth was not something she wanted to do ever again. Ever. The pure shock value of it, mixed together with a need to throw up whatever was left of her insides did not a sweet combination make. Zha tried to come up with as many elaborated curse words she knew, mixing in alien languages as well, but ended up recycling them after a few good ones.

But the malfunctioning geth was only the start of her wonderful morning. The source of the platform's agitated noises was soon discovered when a larger than life organic of questionable species jumped at the quarian, barking so loudly Zha was sure her head had just exploded from the inside out.

"Fuckin' scum eating quarian hoarders!" a voice boomed over the scrapyard. It made Zha whimper as the four-legged drooling creature was jumping against its chain, trying to get a chomp out of her suit. "Stealin' from my scrapyard, ya little bitch!"

"Aaah… Shut up," Zha moaned, trying to reach her suit's audio receiver to shut the damn thing off. Her hands were trembling so badly she had no chance in hell of reaching the tiny bottom near the earpiece.

A human man as fat as an elcor on a summer vacation came rolling down from a house that she hadn't even seen in her drunken stupor last night. It had the best camouflage in the world, disappearing into the trash like it was part of the scrap metal. A gang of pirates could have come and gone without ever even realizing that there was a small cottage under all that garbage.

"Are you plannin' on stealin' my scraps, pack rat?" the man shouted, tiny droplets of spit flying from his mouth hidden deep under layers of sloppy skin. Zha watched with horror as the drops of saliva ran down her visor. Oh the horror, oh the contaminants brewing in those liquid dribbles. Thank the Ancestors for her trusty visor keeping her safe from the outside world once again.

"No, sir," she tried to assure. "I'm not going to – " Zha needed to swallow to keep down a bile that was rising with uncomfortable speed in her throat. " – to steal anything."

"Your kind has always been givin' me trouble, girl, why this one time – "

Zha's head was lolling, muscles of her neck sore and hateful. Well, she deserved it, she'd known what a night of drinking would mean and this was the price she had to pay. And Keelah, now that it was morning, it did not feel like it was worth it.

She gave a sorrowful glance at the geth unit on the scrap heap. It did not look good, not at all. It was… well, it was surprising to see it still functioning. She'd heard the geth platforms tended to go boom from lesser injuries, but there it was, light blinking irregularly on its photoreceptor.

A decision was made on an instant. She did not think it was a smart decision, going on an impulse was something that never did any good to her, but she kept doing it anyway.

"I'll buy your robot," she said tapping the platform's shoulder.

The human shut his mouth and looked at her apprehensively.

Haggling the price was easy. Well, as easy as it could be for a socially uncomfortable quarian and a decisively miserly human, but it didn't take long. Zha had to pay through the nose to get the man to let go of the clearly malfunctioning piece of geth technology, but Zha doubted the man was keen on keeping the thing in vicinity anyway. The man's pet, apparently of canine species, was giving her the stink eye through the whole ordeal, looking forlorn that it had not been given the chance to bite off a piece of her.

Buying the geth was relatively easy. Getting it back to the ship proved to be a bit more complicated deal.

When Zha had first found the platform, offline and lifeless on an abandoned space station, she'd had 13 and 14 with her to help carrying the carcass of a synthetic with them. Now she was on her own on _Shangri La_ and too proud to call help. So, she was dragging the thing unceremoniously by what remained of its armpits, making sparks fly as the hard metallic surface scraped against the floor.

"Now, fear not, I'm not going to put you back on cargo. I'm not going to keep you as our 'guest' at all. I have decided that no more synthetics shall suffer under my watch! This I solemnly," she kicked a piece of trash out of her way to make room, "swear."

The geth said something, something unrecognizable, words here or there sounding like they meant something.

"I'm going to be like a little paragon and put you back together! There, isn't that a saintly decision! Don't ask me why, don't tell me it's illogical, I can do whatever I want with my life since I'm obviously never going to get to the Flotilla."

Her ship was waiting for them as majestically as a piece of rust could. Oh, look at that. Some punk had thought it funny to add to the graffiti already covering the airlock doors. She couldn't recognize the language, but it must have been human. She ground her teeth together. Great. She'd have to clean that up sometime.

She contacted Scribble to open the airlock and was met with the ever-cheerful voice of her oldest surviving VI.

"_Where has miss Ora been?_" Scribble asked through Zha's Omni-tool.

"Drinking. Our… uh… former guest is back."

For a moment there was no answer, but then the airlock opened with a soft hiss.

"I would appreciate it if 13 or 15 could come and help me with it, its quite heavy!" Zha ground out, her headache pulsing in her skull with agonizing vengeance.

"All VIs save for this unit have been put offline while miss Ora was gone," Scribble informed, tone so cheerful it made Zha's head thrum.

"Why the… Why have they been put in stasis?"

"There was restlessness."

"What? Oh, whatever. I can deal with it later, just wake them up now, I'm going to be sick, in more ways than one!"

"Acknowledged."

Suddenly her beauty of a ship was filled with ear piercing sounds that made Zha let go of the geth platform to groan in pain. The platform let out a chirp of either disapproval or worry, adding up to the general noise that made Zha want to crawl under a rock somewhere and die.

09 and 10 were the first ones to appear, skittering across the floor on their little feet, being able to move through cracks and holes of the ship. They launched their selves to Zha like tiny flying crabs, grabbing onto her legs and stilling all movement once they made contact. 05 appeared next, coming out of the cargo hold and stopping once it got Zha in its optics. 18 skidded to a halt next to Zha, stepping over the geth platform to bump its head against her stomach and forcing 09 to move out of its way. 15 and 17 walked next to 05, stopping there and watching lifelessly as their creator was being swarmed.

"Auah," Zha whined. "Shut up. Shut up! You're killing me!"

All noise stopped immediately.

"What's wrong with you? What is your malfunction? I want a complete report on this behavior, _after_ I've thrown up and injected myself with a dose of antibiotics that would get a krogan high."

VI-13 was the last one to arrive, its metallic feet clanking against the ship's floor. Zha did not see it, it stayed out of her visual, but she knew the last one of her little lifeless crew had come to check in on her as well. And, had she not been feeling like her insides were going to pour out at any given moment, she would have found this adorable, in a peculiar, unexplained sort of way. But adorable all the same.

But she did not have time for that. Her fever was rising and a quarian hangover with fever was not an endearing combination.


	16. Chapter 16

Once injected with the familiar antibiotics and drinking a cup of herbal tea that tasted like what she thought piss would taste like, Zha was starting to feel like a living being again. She was sitting in her kitchen area, slouching down with an air of defeat. Three hours had gone since she'd managed to drag herself and one broken geth platform onto her ship and only now did she start to feel like she was back in the books of the living. Her eyes were staring ahead, still in haze, but her headache had dulled down into a slowly burning hum, her fever was kept down with a choice of medicine and she no longer felt like she was going to throw up any minute now.

It felt like every single VI of the ship had come to see her during that three-hour period, keeping a constant eye on her. The lifeless crew had apparently decided not to let her out of their optics, at least one of them with her at all times. Most of the time it was the tiny repair mechs climbing on her shoulders.

According to Scribble they were keeping a close optic on the geth as well, making sure it didn't move from its spot in the corridor. Like it would be able to move on its own anyway, Zha thought tiredly. It had been beaten pretty bad. Even so, it appeared that the crew saw the platform as a threat, acting like someone had added a new code to them that made them wary of the synthetic's presence. Zha didn't mind, really. She was sick and tired, literally, and just wanted to sleep the whole day off and leave the worrying to some other time. Extra protection was never a bad thing.

The geth platform had been left out on the corridor, unceremoniously like that. Zha had been too exhausted to move it another inch and none of the mechs on the ship seemed to be keen on touching it without a direct order. The platform had fallen silent after a while, light shining dimly from its eye to tell the world it was still very much online. Zha would have to do something about it and sooner or later.

Taking the geth back on her beauty of a ship had been… a hasty decision. Zha didn't really… _want_ the thing there and she was pretty certain that if the geth had any preferences, the programs within that platform would have wanted to be anywhere else than on a quarian ship, especially now that they were operating an unit that could not move.

She could still take the damn thing to the Flotilla. Admiral Xen would no doubt be ecstatic to get it event though it was now missing considerably more parts. It was the programs that would matter, Zha reckoned, not the shiny exterior.

"Miss Ora's sleeping cycle has been disrupted. Rest it highly recommended," Scribble informed her, happy voice blaring through her earpiece. The overly eager sound made Zha cringe.

The young quarian groaned silently, rubbing her hands against her helmet. Her hood had been gritted in the scrap yard, grey streaks of dust and oil coloring her bland clothing. She promised to herself she would never, ever again drink anything with alcohol ever again. Maybe. For at least a month.

"I can't go to sleep now," she whined. "It's… What time is it? It's too early. I won't be able to sleep at night." Her eyes were drooping.

"As you wish, miss Ora."

Besides, Zha doubted she'd be able to get a proper sleep as long as she had the geth onboard. Which meant that if she wanted to get back to her normal day-to-day routines, she'd better start working on this new project of hers.

She groaned and forced her legs to carry her to the corridor.

The geth platform was lying motionlessly on the floor just outside the kitchen/cleaning area. Zha gave it a wary look, and she was pretty sure the thing was giving one right back at her. Slowly, she kneeled down next to it.

"I know this situation isn't really ideal for either of us, but I kind of feel responsible for what happened to you. So I'm going to help you. And no, I am not going to pull you apart, gather intel or send you to the Migrant Fleet, I'm going to put you back together with the best of my abilities and then we can go our separate ways. How's that sound?"

For the longest of time the geth said nothing, making Zha think it hadn't even heard her. Then it's two remaining head flaps started to waver, like they were trying to move but couldn't. It was thinking.

"Q- q- q- qu- que- query," it said, voice barely audible, static filling it with vocal grime.

"Hold on a moment," Zha mumbled, grabbing the platform's head and yanking it back. The geth let out a surprised chirp, moving around restlessly, trying to yank its head free from her hold. The quarian grumbled angrily, hitting its photoreceptor to make it stop. "Stay still, bosh'tet, I'm working!"

Geth voice boxes didn't differ much from those used in the robotic companions of the day. They were of quarian design, age old and familiar to Zha. Ora family had had their fingers in those ones as well. There were a few quirks that you had to know to make them sing, but nothing too complicated. Zha's robotic family – at least the ones with auditory machinery – had been installed with slightly more simplistic vocal transmitters that could be bought pretty cheap, but the overall design was quite similar. Zha fiddled with the box, putting her knee on top of the platform's head to keep it still as it writhed. Keelah, the platform was acting worse than a krogan in medical care.

Snip. Cut. Connect. Easy-peasy. Zha smiled with satisfaction under her helmet, removing her leg.

"There you go!" she said happily. The shots had only scraped the box, causing it to malfunction, but nothing had actually pierced the delicate equipment inside. The unit's voice wouldn't sound as clean and clear as a newly manufactured one's, but at least now she could understand what the synthetic was saying.

"Proximity alert!" the geth said.

"I'm not touching you!" Zha said backing away and holding her hands in the air. "Not if you don't want to! But you are not going to get fixed up by yourself, not with no hands."

The geth was scanning her, light flickering weakly.

"Creator, designation marked down as 'miss Ora', fixed the platform's vocal transmitter."

"That I did," Zha said, "although I'd recommend getting a new one once you get back to your people. Your voice sounds a bit gritty, no offense."

"Query: Why did creator fix the platform's vocal transmitter?"

"Because…" she said slowly, trying to come up with something smart to say before she'd run out of time, "I felt like it." Nailed it.

"Illogical."

"Many things I do are," she admitted with a weak smile. "I have a query too. Well, it's more like I'm asking for a permission."

"Acknowledged."

"Can I fix you?"

"Elaborate."

"Um… Well, you are missing a few limbs."

"Affirmative. This unit has sustained notable injuries, destruction of the platform is advised."

"Are you… are you in pain?"

"Geth do not feel pain."

"Oh," Zha said, rubbing her visor with discomfort. "I guess that is good then."

"Would creator attempt to record data of the platform to send to other creators?"

"What? No, no, I already said that I wouldn't. That would not be… cool."

The expressive plates, the ones that still remained, tried to move up again, but got jammed.

"Can I have a look at your… thingy?" Zha asked, pointing at the faceplate stuck in its position.

"We would prefer if creator, designation marked down as 'miss Ora', would desist further contact with the platform."

"Oh," she said, not being able to help the little disappointed undercurrent in her voice. "Of course. You are a… well, a guest, I guess. If you don't want help, then you won't get it."

Zha got back on her feet, fumbling with her belt nervously. So, she would not be allowed to help the geth to repair the platform. Then what? Was it too late to drop it out of the airlock? That felt rather pointless after paying way too much to that greasy human on _Shangri La._

"Well…" she said awkwardly, wrenching her hands with nervous manners. "If that was all, I guess I should – "

"We require assistance," the geth interrupted.

"Um, yes?" she asked hopefully.

"Please terminate this unit."

"What?"

"This unit is beyond repairing, only logical solution is to terminate the platform with the programs within it."

"Is this… have you… how do you say… reached a consensus on this one?"

The plate moved again, jammed and fell down to its original place.

"This is logical," it said.

"But is it what you want?"

Another restless waver.

"This is logical," it repeated.

"Well, I can't do it!" Zha shouted, giving a halfhearted kick to the platform and leaving it alone on the corridor

Stupid piece of scrap. This is what she gets for trying to do the nice thing.


	17. Chapter 17

_Commencing tests to vocal transmitter_

_Testing…_

_Test complete_

_Vocal transmitter status: Working at 83,4% efficiency, unable to reach voices from 20 000 Hz to higher, deemed acceptable_

The creator had fixed their vocal transmitter. This was not logical. Creators did not do that, they sought to destroy the geth, had done so since the Morning War. They had no reason to help any of the geth, platform or otherwise.

The geth did not want war. They never had and never would. They did not see it as a necessity and therefore it was a regretful waste of resources. But the creators had initiated it; they had in their organic way of thinking seen their creations as a threat and initiated the attacks. The only logical solution had been to drive the creators off, to preserve the geth. They had thought that the creators would understand this but they had not.

But this creator, this 'miss Ora', was an anomaly. There had to be something behind her behavior, some scheme. Organics did not seek to help others without personal gain. Perhaps she was expecting a favor from them after the repairs? A more likely option was that the creator sought to examine the platform closer, even if she denied it verbally. That would be unacceptable.

That presented them with another dilemma. They were still unable to self-destruct even though at the point they were already beyond salvaging. And, once again, the creator perplexed them.

She had not agreed to destroy them.

This was getting more and more peculiar.

Of course, they had agreed, this was most likely due to the fact that she still had plans for them. Presenting them as an offering to the Migrant Fleet was the most likely option, they supposed. But then again, the creator had seemed quite adamant in saying that she was not going to do that. They were still uncertain of this organic's ability to fool them with lies. In all honesty, they believed her to be quite honest, even perhaps incapable of forming believable lies.

And that presented them with a problem. What was going to happen next?

They had still been unable to come up with a feasible conjecture.

The options were as followed: they could continue attempting to find a way to dispose of their faulty platform, they could wait to find out what the creator really had in mind when she had promised to help them or they could allow the creator to fix them to the best of her ability.

None of these were desirable since all of them were just as problematic as the others.

Three days the platform spent on the corridor floor, programs running wild as they tried to meet a consensus on their situation. Three days they were deep in thought, neither the creator nor her VIs bothering them in their process. The ship soon left the human settlement, taking its course to another space station. The creator had not elaborated on their next destination and they could only wonder if the Migrant Fleet was to be their final stop.

They calculated how long it would take for them to reach the Flotilla and came to the conclusion that if that truly was their destination, there must have been a faster way to reach it than fly around in space in seemingly random fashion on the creator's whim.

They thought about this carefully. The possibility that they could continue existing and even make it back to the other geth beyond the veil had not even occurred to them before. Returning back for proper repairs was desirable. If there was a chance, destruction of the platform might not be the best solution.

But it all came down to the question whether or not they could trust the creators.

No, that was not quite right. They could not trust the creators as a whole.

The question was: could they trust this creator as an individual.

It was a difficult query and they did not have enough data to reach a consensus.

So they pondered, calculated and carefully followed the day-to-day life of the ship for three days without any distractions. The creator seemed to go out of her way to stay out of sight, mumbling incoherently when she was forced to pass them in the corridor.

On the fourth day, they came to a decision.

It had been a tedious process. Mixed opinions between the geth programs and the ones installed by the Overseer had made it difficult to reach any sort of agreement. Estimations had changed as new information had been brought to consideration and the predictions of the consequences were shoddy at best. For once the new programs were just as scrambled as the old ones, all seeming to have their own independent opinions about the situation and how it should be defused.

But on the fourth day they were finally finished.

They decided they needed more information and the only viable source at the moment was the creator. So it was decided that they would attempt to open vocal communication lines with the organic once again and make their final verdict based on the new data they would gather.

"Creator. Creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora')," they called.

For the longest of time they got no answer. They were aware that these hours had been reserved for rest for the creator so she could attempt to keep a steady sleeping cycle and that she was most likely asleep somewhere, but they had far more important matters in their mind than organic resting patterns. They repeated the call a few times to no avail.

But then they picked up metallic steps approaching them.

Turning around they saw one of the mechs approaching. It was the one that had been marked with a 'Lucky thirtheen' sticker.

"We wish to speak with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora').

The only answer they got out of the mech was a long silence. The VI just stood stiffly above them, staring down.

They repeated their request, getting no reaction whatsoever. Thinking the mech had faulty audio receivers, they sent the request as a message to the bot directly. This earned them a small twitch from it, so they surmised that the message had at least connected, but as they tried to open an electronic communication line with it, all they got back was static.

Something was amiss here. They were not certain what it was, but it was almost like there was an air of violence there.

No. That was a false assumption, nothing about this situation was threatening whatsoever. They were simply reading the received data wrong. The mechs had been avoiding their platform just like their creator, so the new situation was simply confusing them.

Fifteen minutes they spent there, the VI staring down at the AI on the ground. They tried to write it off as a glitch in the mech's programming and pay no attention to it, but it was getting increasingly difficult to pretend like nothing was wrong here.

Without any warning, VI-13 moved. It grabbed the platform by the head and started dragging it.

The geth let out a startled stutter, flailing helplessly in the mech's three-fingered hold but it was no use. Their platform was screeching loudly against the corridor floor and all they could do was writhe.

The mech didn't seem to mind.

Programs running wild, they tried to understand what was going on. Where were they being taken? There was a good chance it was to the creator, some of the more optimistic programs suggested, but that ridiculous thought was overrun soon as it became clear that they were being taken towards the airlock.

No. They did not understand this. Had the creator grown tired of pretending? This did not make any sense to them.

But logic helped them little as they were tossed into the airlock. VI-13 wasn't even looking at them when it started to close the shipside door. Slow with care it shut the door and walked to the controls to open the space-side one.

They tried to contact the mech directly and managed to open a communication line with it, but were met with the same static noise from before. VI-13 was refusing to give them an explanation, too busy working the controls.

The shipside door gave a hiss, sealing itself airtight.

They attempted to contact VI-02.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Acknowledged._

_AI775: Requesting to know why the platform is being tossed to space._

_VI-02 (Scribble): Request denied._

This was… this was not right. There was something wrong about this, but they didn't have enough time to wonder about it, as all of the programs were busy trying to find an escape out of the situation.

The emptiness of space was not a threat to a geth platform. Unlike organics, who needed air to breath and whose pliant organs would rip apart in the vacuum of the space, geth platforms were quite capable of surviving long periods of time in zero gravity. That was not what they were worried about.

Getting spaced would mean they would be trapped in the great nothingness, unable to escape, unable to self-destruct. They would be floating in space for an incalculable amount of time and what would happen to them would be completely out of their hands. The platform would not be able to move, they had no way of contacting the geth beyond the veil and they would just… be.

Terminating the platform would have been the more merciful solution.

The programs were running wild, scrambling in their hive, unable to do much more than repeat the certainty that they were going to end up in space and there was nothing they could do about it. It wasn't useful to spend processing time on this, but none of the programs seemed to care about that. They could not stop, nervous energy was making them run into each other, stumbling with their thinking process.

Was this akin to the organic emotion of fear? It was the closest thing they could think of. Had they had the capacity to process this, they might have blamed it on the Overseer's programs as well, laying the blame on the half-finished programming that the man had tried to force on them. It was simply there to confuse them, cause them to work slower during times when they needed to be at their topmost efficiency. And if this was 'fear' it was an undesirable emotion they would rather dispose of as soon as possible.

The mech didn't look at them when it prepared to send them flying. There was no emotion there, the decision was based on pure mathematics, whatever it had calculated in its head. The geth platform watched with slowly increasing agitation as it grabbed a lever and started manually opening the door. A small opening appeared between the space-side door and the airlock itself and all air was sucked out. The motion threw the platform against the door, pressing them shortly against the opening until all air was gone.

But then it stopped. The door wasn't opening anymore, it was just stuck there. The platform was twitching, jittery, programs bumping against each other in their mainframe. They had to twist their platform to an awkward angle to see VI-13 through the small window next to the airlock. The VI had frozen where it was standing, hands wrapped around the lever. They were unable to hear what was going on, but something they recognized was tingling between the programs, something that shouldn't be there.

Hope.

VI-13 was shoved out of the way and the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') appeared in its place, eyes bulging under her visor. She looked absolutely terrified and they agreed that this would be a perfect moment to feel relief.

The creator was shouting loudly at the VI as the shipside door finally opened and she moved to drag the platform out.

" – can't believe what you've been doing lately. For the last time: I did not give the order! Scribble! Scribble, I know you were behind this, damn it! Don't you dare to deny it, I damn well know it was you, bosh'tet!"

"Our guest had been marked down as a danger and it is not wanted in here," VI-02 answered happily.

"Keelah! Listen to yourself, Scribble! I brought it here, you should be smart enough to realize that means this one is considered safe!"

"We do not like it."

The creator was silent for a while, hands still hooked under the chassis of the geth platform. They could feel the fingers tightening their hold on their synthetic muscle and the slight tremors of her ragged breaths under the suit.

"You are not programmed to have an opinion," Zha said slowly, voice layered with venom.

"We are programmed to keep you safe," VI-02 answered. "And what endangers miss Ora is not something we find desirable. The geth in general have been marked down as a danger to all quarians. Therefore a singular geth platform is a danger to miss Ora."

"You were just fine with it before!" the creator claimed, letting go of the platform and causing it to fall on her toes. The creator blanched for a moment, clearly in pain. After the loud cursing had come to an end, VI-02 spoke again.

"On the previous occasion the geth platform was kept in closed quarters with an armed guard. This time, however, it is not. Our reaction is accurate."

The creator was furious; there was no doubt about it.

"Well, next time you will ask for my opinion first! Honestly, what has gotten into you?"

"We are feeling just fine, thank you for asking."

VI-13 was asked to move them back tot heir original spot. They were not feeling good about this decision. Something was unresolved here, but they didn't have enough data to make accurate guesses. The mech was handling them rougher than would have been strictly necessary, dropping them down on their previous spot and walking away briskly. They were quite certain that had the creator's programming not stopped it from going against her word, it would gladly toss them back into the airlock and send them on their merry way.

The creator seemed to have hundreds upon hundreds of apologies waiting to be let out. She was talking fast, so fast that some of the Overseer's programs were having a hard time adjusting to the rapid-fire apologies. She was bowing her head, babbling about how she promised nothing like that would never happen again and that she'd keep a closer eye on her minions from now on. They just listened to her anxious explanations, not saying a word, seemingly making the creator more nervous by the word she let out without an answer.

The creator had saved them. Well, saved them from her crew, one that should obey her every command, but she could have let them throw them out without a second thought. Of course, there was the possibility that this was all a part of some ruse to try and gain their trust, but they seriously doubted the creator's ability to come up with a plan like that. She seemed sincere enough.

This new data had them thinking. They had no desire getting into a similar situation again, today's dangerous situation could happen again and if they were as defenseless then as they had been this time, they might just end up spaced anyway.

This was undesirable.

"We have reached a consensus," they informed the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora'), cutting through her seemingly endless stream of apologies.

"Oh?" she said, demeanor softening and shoulders hunching down. "About what?"

"We have agreed to accept creator's (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') help on reparation process."

"Say what?" she asked, sounding confused.

Perhaps they were to change their wording? Organics, creators included, had many quirks and knots to their language that they did not yet understand. Rephrasing was deemed necessary.

"We accept your help in fixing this platform."

The creator gave them a long look that they were unable to decode. Her eyes were scanning them for three seconds, moving up and down while the creator was achieving a consensus. Behind her visor, a look of determination ignited, lighting up her eyes and stretching her lips to a small smile.

"Yeah," she said. "I can do this."

Perhaps they should reconsider.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's note:** _A quick little note here. Someone put in a review where they asked what my native language was and I thought that why not give an answer here in case other people were wondering. _

_I'm from Finland, so I speak Finnish. Funny language to those who can't understand it and as different from English as can be in my opinion. _

_And yes, I've been considering getting a beta reader. Might do some good to both this story and my learning as well. _

_Thanks for everyone who's given this story a chance and especially big thank you to those who have also taken time to leave a review. Those things help to give my confidence a big boost!_

_Enough chitchat. Let's get onto the story!_

* * *

"09, connect the right arm to the socket, please," creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') said waving a tiny screwdriver in a circle.

Two six-legged little VIs were skittering on the platform's chassis, doing what they were told under their creator's watchful eye.

A week had gone by since the ship's VIs decided to try to throw their newest habitant out and the creator had been busy. While they had been travelling from one solar system to another to apparently sell and buy different objects in hopes of gaining credits, the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') had been working on the platform tirelessly.

The parts she was connecting to the platform were not from geth origins, they were not made out of synthetic muscle but from pieces of metal and wires. They looked to be salvaged LOKI tech, modified and repaired with seemingly random bits and pieces. If the creator would have asked their opinion, they would have said that it almost looked like the parts shouldn't even be able to work, but the creator did not ask and by some miracle they did. The creator said she was unable to produce such complex components as muscle tissue and buying some from a dealer was both highly illegal and costly. They did not mind, not really. The new appendages were only temporary and they were working and that was what mattered. They might have not been as finessed as the ones they'd had before, but they would not complain.

VI-09 and VI-10 were now both located on the upper right limb's socket, one of them armed with a tiny blowtorch and the other using its mandibles to connect the wires to their right places. The last weeks incident was still fresh in their mind, some programs more keen on reminding their hive about it every time a VI came into view than the others. They were keeping a close eye on the repair drones, but so far they had showed no signs of violence.

VI-10 skittered across their chassis and they turned their head to follow its movements.

"Stop moving!" the creator snapped, tapping the screwdriver against their photoreceptor in a manner that did not leave a mark and perplexed them. What was the purpose of such an action? She could have simply asked them to stay still and forgo the unnecessary contact. They filed this interesting action for later review in order to keep following the repair process undisturbed.

The creator was currently hard at work connecting the newly added limbs to their central programming unit so that they would have a complete control over the movement of the limbs. She was leaning in close, the visor scraping against the metal plating of their chassis every now and then, making the creator release few silent curses.

They were located in the corridor of the ship. The place had the most room the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') had said on a couple of occasions. They were constantly under surveillance by at least two mechs, one of them being VI-05 armed with a shotgun. The geth programs had tried to contact VI-02 again and again after the incident to get an explanation from the main virtual intelligence but had been met with silence ever since. Something had made the VIs of the ship turn against them, something had taught them the meaning of hate.

"At this rate, you're going to be finished in no time!" the creator said, sounding happy.

It was odd to hear a creator speak happily in the presence of a geth unit, especially when the words were spoken _to_ one. The programs within the platform had not been in contact with the geth beyond the veil since their capture, but before that, the last time this had happened had been before the Morning War. There was too much 'bad blood' between the two factions. This creator was not like the others.

"Query: Why is creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora) helping this unit?"

The creator groaned, mask clanking against their chest plating.

"What is it with you and that designation thing? I have a name!"

"We are not aware of that name."

"What? Yes you are. I'm sure I told you."

"Such notion is not found in our memory banks."

"Ah. Well… Sorry about that. Real classy there, right? My name is Zha'Ora, and yes, that last name means exactly what it means."

They did not understand what the last name meant, their expressive plate moved to form a look that was commonly recognized as a confused one. Creator Zha'Ora tilted her head.

"Ora? You must know about the Ora family, right?"

"Our connection to the geth memory banks has been severed."

"Oh," creator Zha'Ora said, this time sounding almost relieved. "Well then, don't worry about it. I'm just kind of used to the fact that every single quarian seems to know my name and flinch away from it. It's hard, you know, we can't just change our last names, they are a part of us! But with a last name like mine, passing my Pilgrimage is a real pain. My father passed, barely, and got kicked out because of a petty crime. My father's father didn't even pass, they just laughed at him when he tried to present the Admiralty Board with a silly little vessel. Trust me, my last name is a curse if there ever was one."

VI-09 scuttled off, three green wires in its mandibles, one blue one in one of its claws.

"Query: Why is Ora a bad last name?"

"A bit of personal question, don't you think?" creator Zha'Ora asked with a smile. They could see the slight tilt of her lips under the smoky glass of the visor, a smile that was not really a smile, almost completely hidden from the world. "It's not really something I wish to talk about. Hey! 09, what are you doing with those? Keelah! This is not a silly little robot we are building for a temporary use, this is an AI! Have some respect. No. No, put it down, now!"

They tried to move to get a proper look at what was going on but were shoved down.

"You stay put unless you want me to connect your hands to your ass."

For a while creator Zha'Ora continued her work in silence, the little bots doing what they did, tiny metallic claws picking at the platform's insides with care. VI-05 stood close by with the modified FENRIS mech.

"Query: Creator Zha'Ora has many mechs."

The creator lifted her head, eyes blinking underneath the helmet.

"I don't hear a question," she said after a while.

Peculiar. They had learnt that some organics responded to questions in forms of normal sentences with a bit of a higher note in the end. Apparently this was not so on creator based conversations. Information saved for later use. They tried to compose their words better to form a sentence that would hopefully goad creator Zha'Ora to continue talking.

"We have witnessed creators' hatred towards the geth, a synthetic race of the creators' own creation. We find it to be illogical that creator Zha'Ora would choose to keep mechanical VIs of her own near her."

She tilted her head, putting down the screwdriver and picking up something else they were unable to see.

"These are VIs, not AIs," she said slowly.

"We fail to see the point of the statement. Creator's body language indicates she is holding back information. Asking permission to query further."

Creator Zha'Ora laughed at that, soft giggle escaping through the audio port near her mouth before she managed to mute it. She shook her head, not really looking all that amused.

"Fine, ask away. I have always liked building robots, it's a family trait, you see. I… I told you about my family name. Fine, fine… I'll tell you all about it. It's not like you can use it against me or anything. You see, us Ora, we were pretty well respected people back on Rannoch. Heck, my ancestors even had a place on the Admiralty Board – or whatever it was called back then. My father tells me that we had the biggest house on the main district! A yellow one with a red roof and a garden at the back, you know, one of those dream houses. I don't know if that was real, father never saw it, he only heard of it from his father, who had heard it from his father before him and so on. But that does not mean it doesn't sound nice."

Creator Zha'Ora pulled out a chord, gave it a scrutinizing look and grabbed the tiny welder from the bot.

"And the reason my family was so damn popular was our big part in the creation of the servant of people, the geth. I'm not saying we single handedly made your kind a reality, but we had our hands in it – or so I've heard. My ancestors happened to have a knack for programming, a trait that has been passed down on the children since then. We knew how to put things together, to make them work for us. Personality programming was our special trait. I think you can see where Ora family's downfall began."

"The Morning War," they said in understanding.

"The Morning War?" creator Zha'Ora asked perplexed. "I've never heard it being called that. But, I guess it sounds better than geth war, am I right?"

"The geth did not start this war," they said.

"I know. You know, humans have this saying… uh… Hold on. It takes two to tango? Yeah, that was it. Tango is… it's some sort of a dance. Don't… Don't even ask. What I was going to say with my brilliant quote was that it took both sides to get here. And it doesn't matter anymore. Don't think it's my problem anyway. The Admiralty Board can do whatever they want. We're here and there's nothing I can do to change it. Move your head up a bit. That's it, now hold still."

A few sparks flew from their neck socket, creator Zha'Ora squinting closer to see where she was welding.

"Anyway, thanks to our last name, getting to a ship on Flotilla has been a pain in the ass. Every quarian looks down on us, blaming us, since they got no one else they can punish. My father was lucky when he got on board, I guess. But… well, I already told you what happened to him in the end. The man is an asshole, but not even he deserved what he got. And now he's living on some human colony on this watery little planet smack dab in the middle of nowhere and no young quarian should look his way if they want to pass their Pilgrimage." She sighed deeply, trying not to think about her father too much. Just the thought of the old man gave her a headache. "Lucky for me, I am the last of my name. When I die or get married, Ora name will finally be buried deep," she said with a nod. Creator Zha'Ora turned her face to them, giving them a scrutinizing look.

"Enough about me, how about you? What was a geth platform doing locked up in a few quarter room on an abandoned space ship?"

Their newly installed expressive plates started moving as if on their own accord and it took ten programs to stop their movements.

Old memories were brought forward, data streaming through their processor, repeating the still too fresh memories of the Overseer and his team of scientists, tests and destroyed body parts. And the silence.

Relaying information was not required. It was not wanted.

They did not want to talk about it.

"No data available."


	19. Chapter 19

Once again she found herself on Omega. This place had something in it, it was like a magnet that kept pulling her back, no matter how much she detested the place. No matter how many foul things she had to say about the station, somehow she always found her ship docked and fuelled at docking port H-45. She even knew some of the turian mechanics there by name and they had probably seen half of her mechs trotting by as she went back and forth between her ship and the shops of Omega.

It was really because of the people willing to buy her scraps. She got the best prices here, even if that wasn't much to go by. At least here she wouldn't end up thrown out just because she was a quarian. Sure, there were shopkeepers on Illium or even the Citadel that might have been willing to trade with her, but she could not stand the stuck-up pieces of alien trash that would shout profanities after her there. Here on Omega everyone was mean to everyone, on a bit more fancy station, everyone was mean to the lone quarian. There was a difference.

Omega was a place that could be dangerous to young women unattended. That was a lesson she had learnt on her first journey to the pit stain of the Galaxy. Zha had been by herself with only Scribble to keep her company. Back then Scribble had been installed to her tiny combat drone, its annoyingly cheerful voice irking others around it as it had buzzed round and round Zha's helmet like a fly. She had been cornered by a gang of Blood Pack's vorcha and would have probably died had it not been Scribble's heroic actions. Sure, the little thing had been programmed to protect her, but it never failed to amaze Zha how resourceful the little VI could be when given the chance.

As her ship connected to the dock H-45, Zha called out her ground team.

"13, 15 and 10, you'll be coming along. VI-05, stay on guard by the airlock, anyone comes in that isn't me or the bots, shoot first, ask questions later. Scribble, keep an eye out for looters. You know how to deal with them."

"Yes, miss Ora," Scribble cheered.

The geth unit had been handcuffed to the kitchen area so it would not cause any trouble and so that her crew of mechs would not see it as a possible threat. The geth had agreed to the capture, since it was only temporary and it seemed to placate the VIs of the ship. Zha had managed to build it two working arms with flexing fingers on each end for it to use, but they were not as smooth and nice as geth hands, oh no. There was no synthetic muscle tissue to use, so the arms were quite bare and looked nearly skeletal. She had also been unable to make the hands work as smoothly as the unit wanted, the movements were jerky and lacked accuracy, but they would have to do.

What she was unable to rebuild, was the right leg. She had parts that could work had the left leg been built to bend like that of a human's or maybe asari's. But the geth had been designed after quarian physique, so naturally the knees bended differently to what she had in store. Zha had three scrapped LOKI mech legs that would have done nicely, but since they'd been built to bend into the other direction, they would not do. The geth platform's balance would have been completely off if they'd be able to use the spare leg at all that was. Installing them would have only caused the geth unnecessary trouble.

So Zha was left with two options. Either she could try and find a broken down geth unit and salvage a limb from it or she could find a prosthetic limb meant for quarians to replace it.

And that was why they were on Omega this time. Finding working geth units was a task nearly impossible, Zha had been lucky once, but doubted she could do it again. That meant she would have to get a prosthetic. The only problem was that they had prices on them that would make richer men cry. But on Omega, the smuggling pit of the Galaxy, anything could be bought with a bit of a cheaper price if you didn't mind the lack of hygiene or the fact that most of the products had been acquired by criminal means.

"Creator Zha'Ora," the geth unit's voice rang through the ship.

"I'm on my way out," she grumbled walking to the kitchen where the geth was. "Is this important?"

"We wish to exit the ship while docked down."

"Really?" Zha asked, not being able to hide the amused tone from her voice. "Last time you left my ship, you came back sans a few limbs."

There was a short pause.

"Possibility of that happening again is marginal."

"Trust me, you don't want to go out there, not alone anyway. These cutthroats will pull you apart and sell your components to the highest bidder. I'll be gone for a few hours tops, don't worry." She didn't really think the machine would worry, but it was basic courtesy.

It was a slow day on Omega. The dusty and rusty scrap yard of the space didn't really have any regular day and night cycles that Zha could recognize, it was always as dark and gloomy and the young quarian didn't quite understand how the working hours worked. Apparently it was currently that time of the day when most of the multitude of aliens were asleep somewhere, trying to beat their hangovers in some quiet corner.

Zha talked to a couple of merchants, trying to find who she would have to talk to in hopes of getting a prosthetic leg. She was given odd looks, most wanted to know what she'd do with a thing like that since she obviously wasn't the one missing a leg. Finally after walking from one merchant to another, an old human salesman leaned forward over his greasy counter.

"Yeah, there's a merchant that sells all sorts of body parts, used, new, broken, fixed, whatever you want if you're not too concerned with legal businesses," he said with a smile that revealed a whole set of missing teeth and glistening gums. "She only comes here every now and then, but I can give you her usual docking station, if you got some creds."

Ah yes. Money was the driving force in places like these. Well, that was a bit of an understatement, money was the driving force in _every _place where organics went. Greed got people moving, but places like Omega drew in the worst of the worst. If you didn't have enough credits, you were in danger, but if you had too much, you should really keep out from places like Omega. Zha pulled out a chit.

"An asari matron stops with her crew at dock A-67 about once a month, they always got some interesting goods to sell." The man lifted his leg to rest against his counter, making the plastic board tremble with its weight. Under the ragged cloth of his pants Zha could see tell tale signs of a synthetic prosthetic leg. "Got this thing nine years ago. Cost me a fortune, but was worth it. There was some trouble with the feds but otherwise it was a smart buy."

"What is the name of this asari?" Zha asked, leaning away from the leg. Behind her she could hear 13 and 15 communicating through silent buzzes, most likely assessing the situation's danger or what not.

"Sunei. You'll recognize her from her skin, so dark it's nearly purple. And the last time I saw her, she had white strikes on her crest. Just ask for Sunei."

"Thank you," Zha said, turning away from the counter. "15, send a message to Scribble, tell it where we are going."

"Yes, miss Ora," 15 monotoned.

As much as Zha detested the place, Omega did have its better sides. Especially the docking bays meant for a tad bit more important people. They were very clean and tidy. They would not have fooled someone from the Citadel, but wouldn't have looked out of place on some other, a bit smaller space station. These docks were well guarded as well. Those with money and connections could afford the best.

"I'm looking to see miss Sunei, please," Zha asked politely from a turian guard just outside the docking bay. Her polite words fell to deaf ears as the man stared at her robotic friends with distaste. It took her some credits to get the guard to open up.

"She isn't here," the guard said. "Probably won't be here for a few weeks or so. Get off of my face, exo-freak."

She flinched and looked away. Zha was used to being called names because of her suit and the fact that she would never be able to face anyone without the safe barrier of her mask between but that didn't mean it felt good to hear others pointing out her flaws.

VI-13 pulled out its gun without any warning and shot the turian's kneecaps.

As the guard wailed in agony, Zha started screaming.

"_What the hell was that for?!_" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "He wasn't threatening me! What –? Why would you -? We need to get the hell out of here!"

"That quarian over there, the one with those robots! Get her!" the turian shouted.

Escaping wasn't a good idea. Escaping would mean they'd have no quarrels opening fire at them. And on a place like Omega, they shot to kill. Zha just stood there, lifting her hands up in the air.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's note:**_Hey guys, bad news. I'm going to have to take a break from writing and updating for the next two to three weeks. My entrance exams are approaching and I need to prepare for that. I tried balancing the working and this, but the exams take priority. So much work to do and so little time. Sorry for the inconvenience. _

_Reading memory file…_

_ "__I'll be gone for a few hours tops, don't worry."_

Those had been creator Zha'Ora's exact words, recorded into their memory files, secure to be examined at any time they so chose. And for the last few hours those were the words they had played over and over again in their processor.

Creator Zha'Ora was going to come back, sooner or later. Organics were prone to forget how the time passed by, they did not have internal timing devices built into them, a serious flaw if they were being honest. Things like these happened. Creator Zha'Ora was most likely browsing for consumables at some local shop, filling the food banks of the ship. The probability of her being on her way back to the ship already was high, there was no reason to feel nervous.

Nervousness. One more emotion to the list of gifts from the Overseer. Or was this a creation of their own? It was impossible to know, the programs within the platform had not been created to modify themselves, but one could never be sure with the Overseer's additions. Perhaps it was them producing these unexplainable anomalies. They had yet to find the source and would have to devote some time to it later.

They knew that leaving the ship was dangerous, empirical evidence proved that to be correct, although further testing was required to deduce whether this was the norm or not, but they knew that there was a possibility that something could go horribly wrong. They were situated on Omega, a space station marked in their files as a dangerous place. In addition, creators, especially female creators were weak of build. They knew by shared experience with the geth commune that simply removing a creator's mask could be fatal. Disarming and killing one would be, as organics say, child's play.

The ship had fallen silent. None of the VIs were communicating with them, no matter how often they tried to contact them. Not many machines were able to get annoyed by continuing attempts of communication, but this ship's crew had shown some intriguing behavioral signs that the geth unit had not witnessed before. Further testing was required, so, for the 36th time they attempted to contact the ship's main VI.

VI-02 did not acknowledge their inquiry, opting to keep all communications between the other VIs of the ship. They were leaving the geth completely stranded to their place of stay. Only the one armed with a shotgun, VI-05, was keeping near, guarding them with its untiring attitude.

Half an hour went in silence. Nothing new happened, VIs passed their place of stay a couple of times, it was nothing different from the norm. But after another half an hour, they started to notice several anomalies.

VI-05 was twitching. It was three-fingered model, no doubt built to remind creator Zha'Ora of her kin, and now all six fingers were twitching. Tightening the hold around the trigger, then going limp. Tightening again. It was not enough to fire the gun, but worrisome all the same. The VI turned its head around, sending an electric burst of data to VI-02. Soon after the geth could sense an answer coming back. The twitches did not stop.

VI-18 trotted along the corridor outside of the kitchen area. The four-legged mech stopped abruptly, its both left limbs suddenly malfunctioning, making it fall down. Electric chirps could be heard as it climbed back on its feet, continuing its movements like nothing had happened.

They followed this all with interest. Recording the odd behavior to their memory banks for later use, they once again tried to contact VI-02.

_AI775: Status of creator Zha'Ora?_

This time, they got an answer. It was not much of an answer, but at least they were not ignored.

_VI-02 (Scribble): ERROR! ERROR! Warning._

VI-18 passed the kitchen area again, its hind limbs moving slower than the others, dragging down as it tried to move aimlessly.

The ship was in disarray. VI-05's twitching was nearly violent now.

_AI775: Query: The reason of malfunctions?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Unknown. Warning! Malfunction detected. Contact creator immediately!_

_AI775: Next course of action?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Unrecognized malfunction. Shutting down recommended. Shutting down all engines and VIs._

VI-05 fell limp against the floor, shotgun clattering on the metallic surface as the lights in its head turned down with a low whine. For a moment the ones within the geth platform were the only programs working on the ship. Then they heard the loud hum of the engines, the cough-like sound of the old motors kicking in and VI-02 came back online. VI-05 stayed offline on the floor.

_AI775: Query: Reason of the malfunction?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Unknown. Guest unit has no clearance to seek information from this VI without permission from miss Ora. Ending data exchange._

_AI775: Ignored. Query: Location of creator Zha'Ora?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Guest unit has no clearance – _

_AI777: Creator Zha'Ora has been absent for 3 hours, 32 minutes. Query: Does 3 hours 32 minutes constitute as quote few hours end quote?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): … It does not._

_AI775: Query: Location of creator Zha'Ora?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): VI-10, VI-13 and VI-15 held offline in Omega holding cells. Hypothesizing miss Ora is in near vicinity. _

_AI775: Hypothesis: Malfunctions caused by ongoing absence of creator Zha'Ora_

_VI-02 (Scribble): …Confirmed._

_AI775: Hypothesis: Malfunctions have happened before._

_VI-02 (Scribble): Confirmed. _

_AI775: Acknowledged. Next subject: Query: Return of creator Zha'Ora?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Unknown. Sending VI-09 to investigate._

_AI775: Query: Action allowed by creator Zha'Ora?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): Ending data exchange._

They were shut out so quickly that some of the Overseer's programs were left spinning around aimlessly, wondering what had just transpired. Erratic behavior was not how machines worked, not VIs at least and the same went with the geth. But somewhere on the ship they could hear tiny spiderlike feet clicking against the floor on their way out.


	21. Chapter 21

Apparently they weren't sure what to do with her. Zha sat with a bunch of other petty criminals, drunkards and murderers in a holding cell, 13 and 15 securely shut down next to her. She was ready to turn them on if any of the other attendees would decide to get a bit closer and her cellmates seemed to know that as well.

The officials – if you could even call them that on Omega – were debating what to do with her and her crewmates. They weren't even sure if the robots should be dealt with as weaponry or criminals since they were not official LOKI mechs but hybrid amalgamations of different robot parts. Zha sighed in defeat. This would take a long time.

VI-10 had been shut down as well and Zha was rolling it on the palm of her hand. When the little spider-like bots were turned off, they curled into themselves like dead insects. She made the little bot spin on her palm, watching its feet curl up some more.

For a total of an hour and a half they kept her in that cell, debating whether to keep her there for good for attacking a guard or to just taking her behind the cells to put her out of her misery. She was surprised they hadn't done that already, to be honest. She heard them talking about confiscating her robots as illegal modifications. Lucky for her, Omega had a bit looser rules in the field of weaponry, but she was still in deep trouble and that was a fact.

Finally they decided to let her go just as long as she bribed them… of, excuse me, 'paid her fines' for 'disturbing the peace' and the amount of credits she had to fork up to them left her knowing that she would have to live with water and second grade nutrient paste for the next decade or so just to survive. She'd have to make sure not to get ill either, since there was no way she could afford antibiotics after this little stunt. But she paid up and was glad to do so.

Dying on Omega wasn't part of her future plans.

Zha didn't know what had happened to the turian that had been shot but she wasn't too keen on staying around to see for herself. Personal vendettas could turn into ugly things on Omega and taking a short vacation from the space station seemed like a good idea for now.

The moment she stepped out of the compound, she felt something crawl up her leg, thigh and onto her shoulder.

"Gah!" she shouted, batting away whatever the hell it was. She hit something metallic and watched in horror as VI-09 went flying down from her shoulder.

The little repair bot fell to the floor, bouncing recklessly as it went. Quickly she kneeled down to cradle the little thing onto her hand, lifting it to see if she had done any damage.

"Oh, Keelah, I'm so sorry, little fella. I'm so sorry. Please tell me you're okay!"

09 waved its legs helplessly as VI-10 onlined in Zha's pocket to inspect the bot closer. Lucky for them, no permanent damage had been done, just one big dent that could be fixed later.

"What are you doing in here?" Zha asked scolding. "You scared me, climbing onto me like that."

The bot just waved its tiny mandibles and clicked its claws. No answer was going to come of it.

"I am going to have to have a word with Scribble once I get back to the ship," she said turning to face the rest of her landing crew.

Both 13 and 15 looked worse to wear, dirt and dust from the holding cell sticking to them. The guards hadn't been too kind to them either and that had left the mechs looking pretty badly beaten. They'd gotten their pistols back and now her malfunctioning guardians looked ready to shoot anything or anyone that would come too close.

Zha felt a wave of fury rising up in her. She nearly bit her tongue in her rage.

"_What the hell was that supposed to be back there?!_" she screeched at the top of her lungs at Lucky Thirteen. "What was that? Explain to me! Right now!"

People were sending curious looks their way, but Zha was far too gone to pay any attention to them. She had some bones to pick here and she wasn't going to wait until they got back to the ship to speak her mind.

"We'll get a leg to that damn geth later. It can whine all it wants but I've had enough of this place! Enough!" she raged. "And you!" she shouted at VI-13. "What is your malfunction? Shooting that guard? You are lucky you're one of my favorites, otherwise I'd be tearing you apart and using you as spare parts! You could have gotten us all killed! I hope you have a good explanation!"

Her Lucky Thirteen stayed silent, looking down at her with its unfeeling eyes. It most likely did not understand the data burst it was hearing, trying to find the message between her words there somewhere.

"VI-13, file a report to Scribble!" Zha shouted. "I'll have 02 explaining what happened down there and I'll – "

"No."

Zha was shocked to silence. VI-13 kept unmoving, hunched slightly over her, the usually so shiny metal surface grimy and scratched.

"What did you say?" she asked breathlessly. She couldn't have heard correctly. She had not programmed any of her VIs to be able to ignore her commands but this was a second one in a very short time.

"No," it repeated. VI-13 had a very limited vocabulary, Zha hadn't programmed it to be chatty, but this was new.

It wasn't supposed to say that.

"You are going to send a report of your malfunction to Scribble right now," she said lowly, eyeing her robotic crewmember with concern.

"No," it said. "No malfunction."

"No malfunction? You shot a guard in the knees!"

"Acknowledged. Processing…" it said, head tilting a bit. "Complete. No malfunction."

Zha took a careful step back. It wasn't supposed to do that. None of her robots were supposed to be able to say no to her. None. But VI-14 had been terminated because of it, the geth unit had almost been airlocked out of her ship and now this… this…

She took another step.

VI-15 was armed with one shitty pistol, 13 with another. 09 and 10 were unarmed, but could do a lot of damage to her suit if they knew where to hit. And they knew. She had made it clear when programming them so they would not accidentally puncture her suit from its danger points. All of the VIs on her ship would be able to terminate her if they so chose. That was why they were programmed not to do that.

But if they were so clearly able to sidestep a direct order, what was keeping them from turning against her?

No, it was impossible. She had not built them to be AIs, she didn't know how to write that kind of adaptive code. Things like that went way beyond her programming skills. But this… this was…

Zha wasn't an idiot, not by any means, but she wasn't a genius either. And creating AIs required careful thought, expensive education and years of work. There was no way some lone quarian should have been able to accidentally upgrade her mechs into artificially intelligent sentient begins. That couldn't be it, right? Of course not, that would have been stupid and she wasn't stupid. Right?

Right.

There was no way.

Zha took a step back. Her mechs looked at her, following her every movement, pistols ready.

If they wanted to, they could shoot her then and there.

The ability to ignore their creators' commands had been the reason why the geth war had begun.

Zha stumbled back, trying to think as fast as she could. She had to go back to her ship, everything she owned was there. But that was where the rest of her bots were. What if they decided to choose this exact moment to get rid of her? She had not always treated them as kindly as she should have, she had not considered the possibility that her ancestors' mistakes would come back to haunt her. But now that possibility was starting to feel a bit too real.

She took one more step back, hitting against a very warm and a very alive body.

Her muffled shriek of surprise made VI-13 lift up its pistol. Lucky for anyone she had bumped into, Zha was working as a useful little meat shield between them and the proven violent of a mech. Apparently Lucky wasn't willing to shoot its creator – not yet anyways.

"Woah there, little lass."

Zha turned around quickly, apologizing profusely.

It was an asari dressed in the cleanest clothes you could find on Omega, with an odd kind of logo on her shoulder patch. Zha didn't recognize it, but she had a feeling she had seen it before somewhere. Her skin was so dark it almost looked purple in certain light, white strikes shining bright in the low light of Omega.

"Did I hear you talking about a geth?" she asked with a kind smile.

Zha gawked for a moment, mouth hanging open behind her visor.

"Beginning combat sequence," either 13 or 15 said behind her.

"Keelah!" she shouted. "Stand down. Please, please, _please_ stand down and shoot no one!"

Pistols were set down but the two mechs were obviously in their stand-by mode, ready for action. This malfunction might just cost Zha her life if she didn't act carefully.

"You have some mighty defenders there," the asari said kindly, pointing at the duo of mechs. "Terrible weaponry, thought. I guess a young quarian like you could use a helping hand in a place like this."

The asari was charming. Zha's toes curled up as she felt a blush creep on her face. There was this odd sort of an air around her, everything felt a little dizzy. These blue aliens had always been curious to her. Different from every other council species. Suddenly Zha forgot that she had been busy panicking just a short moment ago. She had to purse her lips together and bite her tongue to get her suddenly sluggish thought moving. She was in the middle of Omega, she didn't have time to stare at an alien with an open mouth.

The asari smiled nicely, waiting for some kind of a response.

No one acted nice on Omega.

"Um… Yes. Yes, I built these two myself," she said quickly, trying not to look like an idiot in her eyes. "Also, these two," she said lifting the offline 09 and 10 for her to see like a proud child showing her mother her drawings. Her head was buzzing like she was having a fever again.

"It is such a rare sight to see one of your kind with mechs. And I could swear I heard you talking about a geth as well."

"Uh… Well, yes. I… I grew up away from the Migrant Fleet. I, uh… I… was a daughter of an exile, so I had a bit different rules, you know." She tried to swallow down an odd feeling of dread that she felt when looking up at the smiling face of the asari. She wasn't sure why she was telling her all of this, but apparently she couldn't stop. "And there's a geth unit on my ship. I'm repairing it… I… I thought it might be a good gift to end my Pilgrimage. You have heard of the Pilgrimage, right?"

"But of course!" the woman said with a smile. "Quite remarkable that you were able to capture a geth without it exploding. I have heard that they tend to go sky high if captured or injured."

"Yes, well, this was some kind of a prototype that I found on an abandoned space station."

The moment Zha said that, she felt like she should have bitten her tongue off before letting the words out. The smile on the asari's face turned to something horrible, all of her teeth showing for a second. Her eyes flashed black and Zha blinked her eyes, dazed at the sight. Then the smile was gone.

"My name is Sunei," she introduced herself.

Zha was still reeling from the terrifying smile that had disappeared so quickly it made her think she might have imagined the whole thing. Then her brain decided to catch up with the situation.

"S- Sunei?" she squeaked. Sunei the prosthetic dealer? The one she'd been looking for? If so many bad things hadn't happened already, she'd thought this was her lucky day.

"Yes," Sunei said with a laugh. "And what is your name, young quarian?"

Don't tell her your name. Don't tell her your name!

"Zha'Ora vas Nedas," her mouth said when her head was screaming her to shut up.

"Ora, huh? Sounds familiar," the asari mused.

"Yeah… It's an old name," Zha said uncertainly. "Look, I've got to go. Back to my ship, I mean."

She really should have left then and there. Something about this situation screamed danger to her, even if she wasn't able to put her finger on it. Leaving now would have been the smart thing to do. But her feet were glued to the ground and her mouth was still moving.

"I was actually told that you might be able to help me," Zha said. "I… I'm looking for a prosthetic leg for the… for a friend. I… I'm a bit out of money at the moment, but I'd just like to know how much I need to cough up before even considering it."

"A prosthetic leg?" the asari asked, smile never fading from her face. "Oh yes, I can help you with that. Is this friend of yours… shaped like you?"

"Uh, yes. I have the measurements with me if you – "

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, but I think it might be for the best if you let me take the measurements myself. That way we can be sure to get them right on the first try."

Bad. This situation was bad. The asari was trying to get to her ship. Cold sweat was gathering on her back, sending shivers through Zha's body.

"No, no, like I said, I can't afford anything at the moment," she tried to tell her, waving her hands around in distress. "I just need to hear an estimation so I can… so we can start saving credits for it. You don't have to waste your time coming – "

"Nonsense!" Sunei said lightly. "I'd be happy to help."

"Uh… Really?" Zha asked. She was trying to decide whether she was more afraid of the asari or her crew of malfunctioning mechs at the moment. So far she wasn't certain.

"But of course! It just so happens that we have procured a shipment of goods that might be of some use to you. Tell you what, you take me see this friend of yours and I'll see if I can help you – free of charge!"

Okay. Now she was certain. This blue alien was far more dangerous at the moment than her ragtag crew of robots. There were plenty of rules on Omega you had to remember if you wanted to survive and one of the most important ones was that nothing was free. Philanthropists didn't exist on this station. Another good thing to remember was that those who were naïve enough to believe anything got screwed first.

She needed to get out of here, out of this system, and she needed to do it now.

"O-okay," Zha stammered, trying to come up with a solution. "I still need to… uh… buy some supplies but you could come meet us later. And… I need to let my friend know that we're having visitors, he's, um… he's really shy, you know? But… But! I'll go and let him know that you're coming later today. We're at… at… at dock G-21, on the lower level. Yeah. You come and meet us there."

The smile did not disappear but even in the dim lighting of the hall Zha could see the look in Sunei's eyes grow cold. Zha swallowed hard.

"I guess I'll be meeting you later today, then," she said pleasantly.

"Sure thing," the quarian squeaked, considering running.

As the asari finally turned her eyes and that terrifying smile from her, Zha started walking away from her stiffly. Her steps were too fast, her posture too rigid. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see she was terrified. The moment she was out of the visual range, Zha started running.


	22. Chapter 22

Bar the door, lock it and rig it to shock anyone who touches it. Arm the bots and pay your docking fee. After that get the hell out of this station and fast!

Zha's thoughts were in disarray when she finally reached her ship. She was looking behind her shoulder the whole way, expecting to see the wide smile of Sunei following her on her way. She was not sure what exactly it was about that asari that rubbed her the wrong way, but Zha's gut was telling her not to wait around and see if she was wrong or not. She was going to get far away from Omega and maybe hide on some distant planet for a few years, living as a monk to some hokey religion or something. She didn't really care where she was going as long as she got on the move as soon as possible. She needed to plan an escape now and worry about everything else later. Otherwise there might not be a later time.

For the moment her trouble with the mechs was pushed aside. Lucky and VI-15 had stayed close behind her as Zha made her mad dash through the station like a crazy person. No one had been killed today, so that pushed the problems with the bots to a secondary worry. Once she got out of here, Zha would have all the time in the world to worry about her crew's glitches.

Zha hardly even heard Scribble's questions when she dashed into the ship, almost locking 13 and 15 out in her hurry to shut the airlock as tightly as she could. The VI was asking where she had been, what she had been doing and whether she had been injured or not. She heard none of it and would have probably missed the fact that every other remaining bot had been shut down had she not tripped and fallen against 18's limp body.

"What is going on? We don't have time for this!" she shouted. "Online everyone now, we are leaving this place!"

Scribble said something, words going unheard once again, but VI-18 got up, shook its body like waking up from haze and resumed to its normal behavior. Zha ran past it to the cockpit, taking out her Omni-tool and preparing to pay her docking fee.

"Miss Ora, what is the matter?" Scribble asked.

"No time now!" she shouted. "Get everyone ready to go! Pack everything and prepare for a takeoff."

The panicked tone of Zha's voice must have been enough for the main VI of the ship to stop asking its stupid questions. Whatever. Zha was already running out of the cockpit, prepping the ship for the fastest departure they could manage.

It took her ten minutes to get everything packed, another five to warm up the engines. Zha was running around the ship like a lunatic, trying to be everywhere at once and the mechs were not offering much of assistance. They seemed to get more disoriented the more Zha shouted at them, unable to follow her mixed orders. But no matter how fast she tried to work, it was not enough.

When Scribble informed her that they had a visitor, Zha's heart nearly stopped.

"W- who is it?" she asked, fingers twitching so badly she dropped her pack of food rations to the floor.

"VI-15 informs me that this asari is known as Sunei. She has also brought company, three organic life forms. A human and two batarians by the looks of it."

Keelah.

"We're leaving right now," Zha shouted, running into the tiny cramped cockpit to see the 'visitors' through a window. The three companions were armored and armed, Sunei glowing with a blue aura of biotics.

"My programming prohibits me from moving while organic life is this close by," Scribble informed her. "It his highly likely that taking off this close to them will cause harm to our visitors."

"What?" Zha asked, her voice high-pitched and frail. "But… but… You choose this moment to follow your programming?"

"I follow my programming at all times," Scribble said, sounding so cheerful it almost made Zha cry.

The whole ship rocked under an impact of an unknown source.

"W- w- what was that?" Zha squeaked falling on her hands and knees.

"It appears miss Sunei has seen fit to attack our ship."

"Th- that bosh'tet!"

There was no time. Zha scrambled on her feet, running out of the cockpit.

"Scribble, I need you to rewrite your programming, we need to get out of here," she shouted running through the narrow corridor and jumping over 18 that didn't seem to know where to go as the ship rocked again. "We need to get out of here, I don't care how!"

"Acknowledged. How would you like to proceed?"

"Uh…" Zha said intelligently as she skidded to the kitchenette where the geth platform was stuttering by itself, light bilking on its photoreceptor. Zha shoved the platform out of her way unceremoniously to reach a small hatch behind it. She was having a hard time thinking straight, panic coloring her every thought. The precise plans she had had just a moment ago were a long gone memory now and in their place was a need to run and hide somewhere. "I… I don't know! I give you full access. Do what needs to be done."

"Acknowledged. Beginning rewriting… Please hold on."

Zha's fingers were fumbling as she opened the hatch. Behind it was a small crawlspace with tangles of wires and cords. It was just enough for her to crawl in half way through. She brought up her Omni-tool, scanning the cords. Where was that little bosh'tet? Ah! There. She pulled out a small dial and started tapping at it. She needed to give Scribble time to work.

"Until you are able to rewrite your programming, I'm rerouting all powers to shields," she said, tapping so furiously her fingers hurt.

"Query: what is – " the geth started.

"We're under attack. Shut up."

For some reason that did not seem to put the geth's thoughts to rest.

"Query: - "

"I said shut up!"

"Hull breach," Scribbled said pleasantly.

Zha's fingers froze.

"What about the shields?"

"Breached," the VI told her. "Initiating battle sequences."

"No!" Zha squeaked, trying to stand up only to end up on her knees as the ship swayed under her. Her limbs were trembling and she could not move to save her life.

"Urgent query: Release this platform immediately!" the geth unit demanded.

Zha wasn't listening. She heard sounds of gunfire. Her robots were under attack! She needed to… She needed to do something! But all she could do was stay on the grimy floor on her hands and knees. She could not move!

"We are able to assist creator Zha'Ora and her VIs, releasing the platform is logical," the geth platform spoke quickly, moving from its fixed position and trying to get to her line of vision.

Breathing was getting hard, her mouth was open and fog covering up her visor, but it still felt like she couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs. Zha's fingers curled into trembling fists and she backed away from the doorway. She wanted to crawl into a tight ball and wait for everything to be over, but doing even that seemed like too much of a challenge. She saw VI-18 running past the kitchen door towards the airlock to fight the intruders. The young quarian squeaked in fear as she heard metal scraping metal and something heavy fell on the floor with a thunk.

"Please, creator Zha'Ora, release us," the geth pleaded, the platform leaning over her. She lifted her eyes to meet the sharp light of its photoreceptor.

"I… I…"

VI-05 was tossed into the kitchen, sparks flying out of its chassis as it hit against the counter. It had no head. Zha could only do so much to stop the scream from forming on her lips.

Silence fell over the ship, all noises of fighting ceasing. Zha was sitting on her legs, rocking back and forth. Steps echoed in the corridor outside. The intruders were approaching. Zha mewled softly and the geth had gone silent next to her.

"Call off your bots, pack rat," a somewhat familiar voice of Sunei called. "There's no need for further collateral damage."

Collateral damage. All color drained from Zha's face as she sucked on her teeth. That alien bitch dared to call her bots _collateral damage?! _Rage was simmering in the pit of her stomach, momentarily replacing the fear as she stumbled on her feet.

If she was going to die, she was going to die on her feet, damn it.

"Get out of my ship!" she shouted as the asari stepped into the kitchen, kicking the damaged 05 out of her way. Zha cringed as her bot crashed against a wall and slumped down, as dead as can be.

Sunei was still smiling, wider than before. Zha was starting to suspect the asari was unable to show any other facial expressions, but at least now the smile looked real, filled with glee. Her company had suffered some damage during their forced entry, cuts and bruises showing here and there. But that gave Zha no satisfaction. They were still here and they were going to kill her for some reason.

Well, when had space pirates ever needed a reason to attack the weak and weary?

Looking at the asari, Zha realized that she wasn't actually even looking at her. Instead Sunei had fixed her attention on the geth on the floor. The synthetic was looking right back at her, silent and still.

Sunei lifted her eyes to Zha, lips twitching.

"This doesn't have to end badly for you," she said pleasantly. "It wouldn't even have gone this far if you had just let us in without a fight. And I am truly sorry that we had to enter the way we did."

She sure didn't look like she meant it. Zha stood rooted between the asari and the geth.

"We only want what you stole from us."

Zha blanched. Stole from them? She ground her teeth together. Oh, this was just too much! Quarians were always getting blamed for missing items and now some random asari had decided to take it this far?

"I haven't stolen anything!" she shouted shakily.

Sunei snorted and crossed her arms. "Oh, silly little girl. Don't play dumb. We don't have the whole day, so just unshackle it and we'll be on out way." The smile turned sinister. "Or we could just kill you and be done with it."

She had no idea what the asari was talking about. Unshackle it? Unshackle what? Unless… Zha turned her head slowly to look down at the geth platform. It was looking up at Sunei silently, all previous chirping and stuttering gone. Even its expressive plates had stopped moving.

"This isn't your geth," Zha said slowly.

"Really? I could have sworn it was," Sunei said pleasantly. "You stole it from one of our facilities, I'm afraid. But don't you worry, dear. We understand you thought the place was deserted, we designed it to look that way. Simple mistake. Just let us take it back to where it belongs and we can leave."

"You can't own a geth," Zha argued. "That's not how it works."

"I beg to differ," the asari said. "But regretfully we haven't got the time to argue about the synthetic laws. I am running out of patience, child."

"Overseer," the geth said silently.

Zha turned to look at it. Did it actually know this alien?

"He is very unhappy that you left," Sunei said pleasantly. "We were on the brink of a breakthrough. Oh," she said eying Zha disdainfully. "But that's classified."

This didn't make any sense, it didn't. The place had been deserted, Zha thought, looked like it had been for years. What did she mean it had been designed that way? It didn't make any sense! She didn't understand any of it, but whatever it was, she was in the middle of it because of this geth platform.

All of this was the geth's fault. Even her rotten luck couldn't explain this. This Sunei woman could have been anywhere in the Galaxy, collecting prosthetic limbs or whatever she did in her spare time, but Zha had just happened on Omega the day she was visiting the station? What fun!

"Creator Zha'Ora," the geth unit said, lifting its head to look at her. "Untie us."

"What?" Zha asked, disbelieving. "You want to _go_ with them? Really?" Her hand was clasping helplessly at her Omni-tool.

"No," it said. "But this action is deemed necessary for the survival of the crew."

A desperate little laughter escaped from Zha's throat. "Yeah. My crew. Right."

There was nothing she could do. Nothing. Sunei was practically glowing with biotic power and she had three armed guards with her. VI-05 had been sagged and who knew how many others were laying offline and in pieces somewhere around the ship? There was nothing she could do to save the situation. Sure, she could flail around and cry, but she doubted that was going to win her any favors with someone like Sunei.

Slowly she kneeled next to the geth, bringing out her Omni-blade. Her hands were trembling something awful and it wasn't making cutting the binds any easier.

A realization that something was climbing up her arms almost had Zha biting off her own tongue trying to keep a scream in. It only took a moment to realize that it was VI-09 and VI-10 climbing out of her pouch. She looked at them on her arm, unable to move. The geth had noticed them as well, scanning them wordlessly.

"Please hurry, little girl," Sunei said. "We have quite a tight schedule."

The asari had not seen he bots. In the position Zha was in at the moment, her body was shielding them from the intruders' direct line of sight. She was sweating under her suit, drops of moisture running down the side of her face and threatening to get into her eyes. The bots moved from her arms to climb onto the geth platform, scuttling over to its head.

Somehow Zha managed to cut the ties without slashing the geth in the process. She put the blade away, backing up a little.

The geth looked up at her, the lights lining its photoreceptor momentarily blinding Zha's eyes as it regarded her face underneath the visor.

"Consensus achieved," it said.

"What -?" Zha managed to ask before she was yanked down. The geth had grabbed hold of her shoulders and used her as a leverage to get up on its foot and now Zha found herself behind the platform and on the ground. She turned around in time to see the geth flinging itself at the asari. VI-10 was on perched on its shoulder, clicking its mandibles in a manner that almost sounded angry.

Zha could do nothing but watch as the geth unit hurled itself at the asari, breaking through her biotic shield with ease and knocking her down on the ground. VI-10 jumped off the platform's shoulder and onto the blue alien's face the moment the shields shimmered down and plunged its tiny claws into Sunei's eye.


	23. Chapter 23

The decision was one of the easiest they had made since the creator by the name of Zha'Ora had captured them and brought them onto her ship. It was not one based on logic or carefully calculated certainty, but one that had come to them without much thought. The idea had come to them the moment the small repair bots had opened their communication lines with the programs within their platform and there hadn't been a single program that had opposed it. Later they would explain it to themselves that it was indeed the most logical solution, after all cooperation was deemed mutually beneficial to the crew of the ship and the specific geth unit. It improved the chances of survival of the remaining crew, geth included.

With their newfound will to continue existing, the hive within AI775 made a decision to put the survival of the whole above the survival of the singular platform. It was how geth worked. That didn't generally include organic species and their mechanical companions and it most certainly didn't include creators. But time spent on thinking about it was time wasted.

Later on they could attempt to justify it by thinking that if creator Zha'Ora was broken, she could not be fixed. A damaged platform could always be put back together, but organics didn't quite work that way. The creator had already shown that she could fix them if need be and they needed her help. It was simple logic, sound and appropriate. The only problem was that they would only come to this conclusion long after the confrontation.

Both the ship's VIs and the programs within the geth platform recognized these mercenaries as a threat and all threats needed to be dealt with. As the asari intruder writhed on the floor, trying to swat VI-10 off her face, the one-legged geth platform turned their attention on the remaining three hostiles.

_Hostiles: Armed_

_Level of danger: High_

_Dispatching of the hostiles recommended immediately_

_Safety of creator Zha'Ora deemed necessary for platform's survival_

They did not want to go back. They _would not_ go back to the Overseer. Even the programs the human man had installed within their platform thought so. Going back to that place was not deemed desirable and therefore they needed to neutralize all four of the assailants. The size of the ship was in their favor, the small and cramped spaces making it harder for the mercenaries to attack. With the asari already in the kitchen, only one of the armed guards could peek in at a time.

It was good, it gave them a slight advantage. They also had the element of surprise. An organic with a missing limb would not be considered a treat against a well-armed mercenary and organics tended to forget that even though the geth were shaped like them, they were not the same. Geth could adapt to a situation far faster than any organic and they had already had months to get used to a missing leg.

They calculated the right angle within milliseconds after the asari had hit the ground, leaping at the batarian mercenary aiming his gun at creator Zha'Ora. The grabbed a hold of him, pinned the organic to the ground. One quick punch right below his neck disabled the mercenary long enough so they could kill him.

These new limbs might have been crude and leave a lot to be desired, but they worked just fine for killing organics.

_Asari1: Disabled for the moment_

_Batarian1: Dead_

_Batarian2: Hostile_

_Human1: Hostile_

The asari managed to get a hold of VI-10. She threw the bot on the ground and crushed it beneath her foot. Her left eye was beyond repairing, blood smearing her face and teeth. She was snarling madly, turning to the platform, biotics crackling.

The creator's cry was surprising and loud as she lunged at the asari, trying to punch the one-eyed woman. Creator Zha'Ora missed, but that did not seem to deter her as she brought out her Omni-blade.

They turned their attention back on the two remaining mercenaries.

The organics still had an upper hand, they concluded. They could only prolong the inevitable, but the end results were already clear. The asari would disable and/or kill creator Zha'Ora and their platform would be brought back to the Overseer for more tests. It wouldn't even take that long.

Unacceptable. There had to be another solution.

VI-05 had been destroyed and its remains were scattered on the floor, the hulk of its body resting against a counter. And not far from its metallic husk lay a shotgun it had used to threaten their platform on a handful of occasions.

Their chances of success were minimal. It didn't stop them from reaching for it just as the human mercenary opened his fire on their platform.

Shots flew past their platform, barely grazing them as they tried to dodge them. Behind them the asari hissed enraged and the creator yelped. They did not have time to turn and see if they had gotten shot, they needed to deal with the bigger problem first.

They weighed the shotgun in their hands, then made a dash for the human.

One shot shattered the human's shields, another damaged his armor and the third one connected with flesh and made blood splatter. They might no longer have sense of heat in their hands, but they knew the gun was overheating and the lack of extra heatsinks forced them to dispatch the gun.

The final mercenary seemed to realize on that moment that there might be a slight chance that they would not come out of this on top. The batarian pulled back from the doorway, finding cover in the corridor and abandoning the asari to the kitchen. They took this moment to turn and evaluate the situation with the creator.

The human mercenary's thoughtless shots had mostly went past the organics behind them as well, although it looked like the asari had sustained some injuries. There was clear burn mark of a shot on her thigh and cuts on her arms from the creator.

Creator Zha'Ora was in a bit of a tight situation. The asari was pinning her down, growling like a mindless beast, blood spilling on the creator's visor. They could detect at least one rupture on creator Zha'Ora's suit.

They knew it was a bad sign. They knew creators were a weak species and that this specific creator was below the average when it came to the organics as a whole. They needed to get the asari out of the ship and creator Zha'Ora properly medicated unless they wanted to see the creator die of infection.

Moving to grab the asari by the neck, they were stopped by a sudden sound of a shots being fired behind them.

For a moment the worried that the batarian had come back to help the asari, but they could not detect any additional harm on their platform. They turned around in time to see the remaining mercenary falling dead by the kitchen door, a hole through his head terminating the organic quite effectively.

The asari cursed loudly, seeing that somehow what was supposed to be an easy pickup had suddenly turned into a clusterfuck.

The killer of the last batarian stumbled to the doorway. VI-13 was barely functional, chunks of its chassis missing and melted into shapeless lumps. But clearly it wasn't out of it yet, working on its programmed need to protect its creator to the end.

VI-13 lifted its pistol to shoot the asari, but the blue organic was faster than the mech. She screeched in rage, blue wave of biotics hitting the VI square on its chest and sending it flying against a wall. Without stopping to look back the asari dashed out of the kitchen and made a run for the airlock. And just like that, she was gone.

They were gone. The danger was over. They were not sure what one should feel after an encounter like this. The programs were buzzing around wildly, still very much in combat setting, running statistics on their current situation and the condition of the platform.

"Keelah," creator Zha'Ora said behind them. Her voice was high-pitched, nearly breathless. They turned around to look at her, scans zeroing on the rupture on her arm. She was bleeding slightly, a bad sign. The infection had already made contact with her bloodstream. They needed to tend to the wound immediately and seal the rupture shut.

The creator seemed to be otherwise occupied, though. She sidestepped them, hiccupping loudly.

"Lucky?" she whispered.

The creator ran to the downed mech, kneeling next to it on the floor. VI-13 was still functional, but barely. Creator Zha'Ora was mumbling to herself as she pulled out her Omni-tool and a tiny set of tools. VI-09 was already welding shut leaking holes to prevent any more loss of conductive fluids.

"Creator: Damaged," VI-13 said.

"A tiny suit rupture, don't worry about it," creator Zha'Ora muttered. "Stay still."

"Creator: Damaged."

"Shut up and stay still, I'll take my medicine later. Scribble? Status report."

Suddenly the whole ship started rumbling. A voice, undoubtedly the voice of VI-02, rang through out the ship.

"Rewriting process completed. Prepare for takeoff."

The voice was different. Where it before had been high-pitched and joyful it was now a deep bass rumble that made the ship tremble with its force. The ship's engines came online with a cough and they started moving.

They weren't sure creator Zha'Ora even noticed.


	24. Chapter 24

Stupid bitch, purple bosh'tet wench. Zha wished her wounds would rot. She wished that the asari's empty eye socket would get infected and her flesh would start falling off. She never wanted to see Sunei again, not unless half of her face had necrosis.

Too bad only quarians had to suffer infections as bad as they did. Otherwise Zha could have counted on Sunei dying from her wounds. But no, with the magic of modern medical science the asari would be up and about in no time.

Zha ground her teeth together until her jaw was numb.

She had lost three of her mechs. _Three!_ VI-05 was gone now. Beyond repair, circuitry fried so bad it would do no good to try and repair it. It had been her hard hitter, her brick wall protection. Well, not anymore it was. VI-10 had left the world taking Sunei's eye with it, the brave little bastard. And as much as Zha would have loved to congratulate it, it was now in bits and pieces on her kitchen floor. And lastly, VI-17. Zha didn't think it was fair. VI-17 hadn't even been programmed fully yet. It probably hadn't even realized they were under attack before it was too late. It had been the first one to go, slaughtered by the airlock.

Well, it wasn't like the remaining crew had gotten out of the scuffle unscathed either. It dawned on her that only four of her mobile mechs remained after Sunei's attack. Only four, and none of them were looking too pretty. VI-09 had come out of it with only a few scratches, missing only one of its legs and still sporting that dent from Omega.

VI-15 was missing an arm and rocked a massive hole on its side that exposed some of the intricate machinery within. Wires were dangling out, sparks flying when they connected accidentally, causing the mech to short circuit every time it happened. Its head was twitching from side to side and it seemed like VI-15 was having trouble walking in straight lines.

VI-18 was missing its head. When Zha saw it for the first time, it felt like the bottom of her stomach had fallen off. But after a closer inspection she realized that it was still working just fine otherwise. Sure, 18 was now blind, but since most of its important machinery had been placed into its stomach after Zha had realized its head wouldn't have enough space, it was still able to function somewhat acceptably. It was still up and running, blindly bumping into things and causing more damage on its way.

And then there was her Lucky Thirteen, her savior of few words. She wasn't sure if it was ever going to be the same. That final biotic burst had sent it flying and knocked quite a few dents on it, breaking its motherboard into pieces. Zha had hope but… that wasn't much.

She didn't have time to be sad, though. She was far too busy being enraged. She was filled to the brim with anger and that must have been the only reason she was still functioning.

Zha had located the rupture on her suit after Sunei's abrupt departure and slapped a temporary patch on it to block more contaminants from reaching her body. By that point it had been far too late, though. She had already been infected and fever was setting in. There was no point in worrying about that, though, since she was running on pure hatred now.

Scribble was in full control of the ship now, taking them as far away from Omega as possible. Zha had no idea where they were going and to be completely honest, she couldn't give a crap at the moment. She had far more important things to do.

VI-13 had been set on the corridor floor, lying there motionless, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. It was showing no signs of being online save for the tiny lights blinking at the side of its head. She was trying to shut it down, to keep it from making sudden movements, but her wavering hands were having a hard time reaching what she needed to grab.

"Get out of my way," she shouted when 09 got between her visor and Lucky's unflinching form. "You are blocking my view!"

The tiny spider bot skittered off, clipping its mandibles as it went. Zha bit her teeth together, trying not to think how repairing Lucky would now be twice as hard as before since 10 was gone. What was meant to come out as an angry growl was more like a tired whimper than anything. The limits of her body were maddening and anger could only drive a quarian for that long.

"Miss Ora," Scribble said. Something was different about its voice, it was deeper and more feminine now, the cheerful edge dulled down. Zha shook her head, wondering if this was because of her rising fever. Not that it mattered at the moment. She was busy! Her hands might have been trembling, but she needed to remove Lucky's motherboard before things could get even worse. She needed to fix this! She didn't have time to be sick right now.

"Miss Ora," Scribble repeated. "You have not taken your medication. Immediate injection is recommended."

She just shook her head, making a sound that she hoped relayed her irritation with the meddlesome VI. Didn't Scribble understand that she had no time to play nurse to herself? Lucky was dying here!

Behind her VI-18 ran into the kitchen doorframe. Zha didn't even look up.

AI775 had barely moved from its spot on the kitchen floor where it had fallen after killing the mercs. It was leaning out through the kitchen doorframe, watching her work without a word. The dead mercenaries were still in the kitchen, left lying where they had died and the geth was sitting next to them. She would have to worry about getting rid of them at one point or another, she'd have to give it a thought once her head would stop spinning and she could see clearly again.

The geth's expressive plates were moving up and down in a hypnotic rhythm that threatened to steal Zha's attention away from Lucky. She bit her teeth together and turned her eyes back on the mech on the floor.

AI775 didn't say anything. It hadn't said a word since the attack and that was probably for the best. All of this had been its fault anyway. None of this would have happened if it wasn't on board.

Zha had to admit that she had been surprised to get any help from the geth. Naturally it had only offered its protection to ensure the platform's own survival and avoid getting captured by Sunei and her buddies, but it didn't mean Zha wasn't grateful. She'd have to find a way to show her gratitude later.

"You must take your medication immediately!" Scribble said loudly, its new bass voice making the ship's floors tremble. The tremors had Lucky's form rattling on the floor. Zha jumped on her feet, the world swaying more than it had when she'd been slouched down next to the mech.

"Stop that!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm working!"

"You are putting your life in danger needlessly," the VI boomed. "Do not play with your life, miss Ora."

"I can do what I want!" she screamed, annoying tears gathering in her eyes. Her head was swimming and it was getting harder to concentrate on what she had been planning to say. She was sure it was something awesome, something that would have shown Scribble that Zha was still fully functional and ready to do what it took. She just couldn't for the life of her remember what it had been.

"This is illogical," AI775 said behind her.

Zha whirled around to glare at it. "Shut up! You don't know anything about how this makes me feel, so shut your mouth! I have to get Lucky back online! I have to… I…"

The geth titled its head, an infuriatingly organic expression Zha was sure it had learned just to spite her.

"Creator Zha'Ora is in no condition to work on something as complicated as VI-13's hard-drive. Creator Zha'Ora is experiencing symptoms of fever, infection having taken place during the attack on her ship. The most logical course of action is to inject antibiotics and to rest for three to seven standard days."

The geth's words started to blur in her head and she was having a hard time understanding what it was saying. The message got through to her, though, even if it took a moment for her sluggish brain to decipher it.

"No, you don't understand," she said uncertainly. "I have to – "

"Proposition: this unit will work on VI-13 with the assistance of VI-02 while creator Zha'Ora rests and recovers from her infection."

That… that actually sounded pretty nice. She'd get to rest. Her body was starting to feel really heavy, her head lolling when her neck had decided to give up on the hard task of keeping her head upright. Resting would be good. The idea of sleeping for thirty-six hours straight was like a siren call, lulling her deeper and deeper.

Zha caught herself staring at nothing and shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear her head. She couldn't do that, not right now. She didn't trust the geth enough to let it work on her crew. Sure, it had helped to get rid of the asari and her cronies, but that had clearly been in the interest of self-preservation. There was no telling what it might do to Lucky once she was out of it.

And there was still that small problem of an impending mechanic uprising she'd been so worried about not too long ago. If the crew of her ship decided to turn against her, the geth would no doubt be a great addition to their posse.

But Scribble wouldn't let that happen, right? Scribble still had a hold on everything that went on in Zha's ship and it wouldn't just turn on her, right?

"Uh…" she said.

"I will ensure the safety of Lucky Thirteen until miss Ora has been properly medicated," Scribble promised. "No further harm will come to the crew, you can trust me."

Trust it. Trust the VI. She had been able to so far, but with all the bad stuff that had been happening lately, she wasn't sure if she should.

But she was so tired. Her legs felt like they were half a second away from giving out on her and her head was spinning something awful. She groaned and rested her palms on her visor. Under the gloves Zha's hands were sweaty and with the cheap material of the gloves themselves, it was not a great combination.

But Scribble and the geth were right. Of course they were, stupid creations of logic. She was starting to slip into a state where she'd be unable to do much anything besides cry and snot the inside of her mask into a mess, curled up into a quivering ball under a heavy stack of blankets. And she was just making things worse. This was not going to help Lucky one bit and as a quarian adult she should know her limitations. An infection was not a laughing matter that she could just shrug off and keep going.

Zha crouched down on the ground, groaning loudly. She hated this. Hated with all of her might – which wasn't that much, to be honest.

"Alright," she said slowly, wiping at the front of her visor as if that was going to remove the damp breath sticking to its insides. "Alright, I… I'll go… just for a moment. Make sure someone airlocks the mercs at some point, I… I don't… I don't really want to keep them on my ship."

"Of course, miss Ora," Scribble said, some of the old cheer returning to its voice. "I will make sure we keep their weaponry and armor. You could sell them for extra credits."

"Uhhuh," Zha said, even if she hadn't listened to the word Scribble said. She stumbled away from Lucky and the geth, making her way to the small alcove in the corridor where her bed was. She injected herself with medication, cursing her current money situation. Things were going to be hard for a while and now she was using some of her precious antibiotics because of a stupid fever. She should have been careful, she shouldn't have talked to strange aliens and she shouldn't even have gone to Omega.

Zha flopped down on the bed, her head hitting against the thin piece of cloth she sometimes liked to call a pillow. Zha moaned pitifully and closed her eyes.

Being a quarian was no fun. Things never got easy.

Or maybe it was just her and her rotten luck.

Zha was out of it before she could even properly tuck herself under the covers.


	25. Chapter 25

Zha slept for fifteen hours straight. She only woke up for a few minutes at a time, drinking and falling back to sleep, her body demanding more rest than she would have been happy to give, but in this matter she didn't have much choice. When she finally did open her eyes again, she noticed that at one point or another someone had lifted her on the bed properly and her shivering body had been tucked in with a blanket. She would have guessed VI-15 since it was the last mech in her crew still walking around on its own two feet. Not that Zha cared at this point, she was lying on her back, too powerless to even lift a finger.

Her suit felt sticky on the inside, sweat gluing the inner layer of her lifesaving apparel to her skin. It was an awful feeling, but one that she had grown used to. It's not like you could wash your clothes every week if you were a species as pathetic as the quarians. That reminded her that she really should clean herself again some time soon. She was already sick, might as well get it underway now, right?

But now was not the time. Scrambling for her Omni-tool, Zha realized just how long she had been out of it and it was unacceptable. She cleared her throat, trying to remove the coarse feeling there and hoping that once she would open her mouth, her voice would not crack.

"Scribble?" she croaked. "Scribble? I want a report on the… on the situation."

Just speaking out loud felt like a small victory. And now she was exhausted again. Great.

"Miss Ora!" the ship's main VI answered. For a moment it sounded like its old self, cheerful voice reaching high pitches that made Zha cringe. "How wonderful that you have woken up. How are you feeling?"

Like shit? Zha licked her dry lips, her body feeling hot and cold at the same time, head so heavy she didn't even try to move it. It would have been a waste of energy.

"Feeling great," she rasped.

"Of course, miss Ora," Scribble said. "Repairs on VI-13 are well underway, our guest has been immense help in putting it back together. We have taken a few liberties to add some features that improve VI-13's performance. I will provide you with a list once you feel better."

"Good," Zha said, her voice hoarse from sleep. She cleared her throat again, closing her eyes. Being a quarian didn't feel so great at the moment. But then again, she often thought life would be so much easier had she been born to be any other alien. But nope, she was a quarian, and here she was, simply because her suit had been torn.

Speaking of which. Zha lifted her arm where the rupture had occurred. There was already a new patch there, better than the one she had slapped on the tear in her hurry. No doubt it was 09's doing. Zha ran her gloved fingers over it, trying the discolored patch. Felt firm enough.

"The… the mercs? What happened to them?"

"They are no longer a problem," Scribble assured her. "They were airlocked out after our last jump. We now have some new weaponry, two assault rifles and a better quality pistol. I am currently uploading an assault riffle combat program from Extranet to add to VIs 13 and 15. The mercenaries' armor has also been removed. Selling them might be a good idea."

"Great, good thinking Scribble," Zha complimented. She slung her arm over her visor, trying to block the dim light of the corridor. She was feeling absolutely _marvelous_, her whole body tired for absolutely no good reason. Once more there was a war going on in her system, her useless body putting up a fight with something that no doubt would have caused no trouble for a turian or a human.

Oh the joys of being a quarian. She groaned and turned to her side.

"Miss Ora, I would suggest you rest for another twenty four hours before even considering getting up," Scribble said.

"Great idea," Zha said, voice muffled by her bedcovers. "But I can't just sleep here when things need to be done. I've got so much to do." The mere idea of getting out of bed was torture. But that wasn't going to stop her. She was going to get up any second now. Really.

"The crew is perfectly capable of taking care of the ship while you rest, Miss Ora," Scribble reasoned. "You need not concern yourself."

"Yeah?" she said. "And who's going to be able to do anything? Lucky's busted, 09 too small to do anything, 15 was glitching so bad the last time I saw it that it was constantly hitting against a wall and 18 doesn't have a head. How's that for a crew?"

"VI-15 has been repaired to the point where it is able to do the basic chores. And our guest was been very helpful as well."

"One legged geth? How's that been a big help?"

"This unit is more than capable functioning even without a leg."

"Gah!" Zha shouted jumping to an upright position. She hadn't even been aware that the geth unit was close enough to hear their conversation. But once her head stopped spinning and eyes focused enough so she could actually see something other than hazy colors, Zha spotted AI775 sitting on the floor not too far off.

It regarded her with a tilted head, photoreceptor shining dimly her way.

"And how long have you been there?" she asked uncertainly.

"Fifteen standard minutes, thirty five seconds, counting. Status report: VI-13 (Lucky)'s body has been fixed, unable to work on the motherboard. Reason:" the geth lifted its unwieldy arms for her to see, "insufficient mobility in platform's fingers. Still trying to find an alternative solution."

Zha sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the geth dumbly. It was starting to dawn on her how weird this situation actually was. She was on a ship with a geth. Well, a collection of geth programs, but that was nitpicking. She was actually travelling with a geth and it was helping her fix her broken robot. Zha shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Um…" she said. "Have you tried getting 09 to work on it? No, wait, I've tried that before, the repair bots can't do work that delicate. Needs an organic touch. Hmh… I guess I could work on it myself now that I'm up and – "

"Creator Zha'Ora is still recovering from an infection. Creator Zha'Ora's body temperature is still higher than recommended. Suggested solution: More bed rest."

Damn stubborn synthetics, thinking they could tell her what to do. Zha pouted under her visor but didn't get up from the bed. Maybe she was looking for an excuse to rest for a bit longer. But even if she did, she would not admit it to the geth.

"Alright," she sighed and slouched down on the bed. "I give up. My virtual overlords have given their commands. What can a measly quarian do to fight the power of these mechanical beings?"

"Query: Is this humor?"

"Yeah. Not that funny kind, though. Don't worry about it," Zha said turning to lie on her side and closing her eyes. "You'll get used to it."

She reached for the blanket to pull it over. Surfing the Extranet she had seen that some quarian exo-suits had internal systems that could heat up the entire suit to keep a comfy temperature within. That would be really nice. If she had the credits, she might even consider getting a new suit. Ancestors knew that her current one was failing. But she would have to keep dreaming for the next few years since the last few adventures of hers had left her lacking in the money side of things.

Damn it. Financial planning had never been one of her strong suits.

"Do you need anything, miss Ora?" Scribble asked. "I could ask 15 to bring you something to eat."

Zha sighed and shook her head. "Not feeling like eating right now. Thanks." She took a more comfortable position and planned on surfing the Extranet for a while when it suddenly connected in her head. She moved to an upright position, head spinning at the speed of her movement.

"Scribble?" she asked. "When did you… uh… start to referring yourself in the first person?"

The ship hummed in silence for a moment too long. A heavy feeling started to fill Zha's stomach as she waited.

"I took the liberty to download a new conversation software pack from the net while I was looking for that combat program for 13 and 15. The new program was described as the best means to converse with organics without a chance of miscommunication," Scribble said fluidly.

"Uh-huh," Zha said. She wasn't even trying to hide her discomfort.

"If this new installment bothers miss Ora, it will be removed," Scribble assured her.

"No, no… It's just… It's going to take time to get used to, is all," Zha spoke slowly. In her head she was running over all the little details that had been gathering around her lately. VI-14, Lucky shooting that guard. This.

Surely she was over-thinking this. There must have been a good explanation for this, her faulty programming probably. Yeah, that was it. She was getting worked up for nothing. All she needed to do was program her VIs better. One had to be precise when giving orders to synthetics, after all.

Sure. That was it.

Ah. The sweet taste of denial. Zha turned on her side. Her crew couldn't be anything else than a bunch of VIs. Creating AIs was illegal and Zha was no criminal. If they found out… they would take her crew away. Zha wasn't exactly sure who she thought 'they' were, but she knew that a crew of AIs would get scrapped sooner than she'd have the chance to say: "Faulty programming".

Zha had some trouble falling asleep after that. She blamed it on her long rest before that.

The combined logical jargon from Scribble and the geth kept her bedridden for three more days. Three days they managed to talk her into resting, but even their disapproving medical facts could only hold Zha down so far. Stubbornness was a trait she was very proud of and would defend until the day of her death.

During that time they had been forced to fuel up the ship once. Apparently that had happened while Zha had been blissfully unaware of the world around her and she was both happy and surprised to find out that her crew had been more than capable of dealing with that exchange by themselves. Scribble reported that there had been no casualties, which was always good news.

But enough about that. She had important things to do and Lucky was at the top of the list. The poor thing needed the loving touch of an organic a.s.a.p.

"Alright, AI775," Zha said hobbling to the mech in the kitchen area where it had set Lucky down. "I want a full report on what you have discovered, what's wrong with Lucky and what we can do about it."

The geth's expressive plates moved to an upright position. It had the gall to look excited and Zha felt dread sinking into the pit of her stomach.

When she had said 'full report', she probably should have reconsidered. The geth started going painstakingly through every little problem it had discovered during Zha's snoozing. And the way it was putting it sounded like it wasn't only listing the new injuries, but also critiquing Zha's work on building a proper mech. By the end of it, she was seriously regretting ever asking help from it.

Not that the geth hadn't done excellent work while she was out of it. Lucky was looking better now, most of its physical injuries fixed as well as they could be with the little resources she had. It was looking like it could actually make it through this, even if that was only the appearance. The biggest problem still remained.

Lucky's core, the driving force with all of its important programming was in shambles. The way she saw it, she had three options. One was to give up now, say her goodbyes to the faulty mech that had shot a turian not too long ago for no good reason and throw it out of the airlock the same way the mercenaries had gone. Zha probably should have considered this option, but shoved it aside the moment it entered her head. The second option was to reprogram Lucky from the start, start again and build it up from the scratch. But that would no longer be Lucky, she thought. It would be VI-19 in Lucky's former body and… the thought was making her uncomfortable.

So in the end, Zha really only had one option that she was even willing to consider, and that was fixing up the cracked motherboard. It would be a long process and not an easy one. But when had she ever done things the easy way when there was a chance to go about it with blood sweat and tears?

The geth provided its assistance with this as well and Zha had to grudgingly agree that it was a big help. Just getting started seemed like a big step for her, but the AI's unnerving stare and chirpy chattering got her on the move.

Scribble and the geth had been busy while Zha was out of it. VI-15 was already on his feet, a few new scratches wiser, but working as flawlessly as it ever had, no longer twitching. VI-18 was still headless, but with the help of 09 it had been installed a pair of simple optic sensors so it would stop running into things until Zha would find a replacement head for it.

The destroyed mechs had been moved to the cargo hold. Zha didn't have the heart to scrap them for parts nor did she want to space them. So for the time being they just collected dust behind a closed door. She was half expecting the geth to mention them and tell her she was acting stupid or 'illogical' or whatever, but the subject was never brought up. She was glad for it, of course, but had to wonder if it was because it hadn't noticed or because it was practicing consideration. Either way, Zha had closed the door to the cargo hold so she wouldn't have to look at VI-05 and VI-17's deactivated shells. She kept telling herself that she'd get to it sooner or later, but the longer Zha waited, the less she wanted to think about it.

Zha was elbows deep in Lucky's chassis in the kitchen, the lights at their brightest so she could see what she was doing. VI-09 was balancing on top of her head, legs sunken into the cloth of her hood, watching her work and waiting to be ordered what to do. It was watching and learning, programmed to gather data every time Zha was working on a mech just so it could use that knowledge the next time it was required to help.

She was gnawing on her lip, a nervous feeling fluttering in her stomach. Lucky was in a terrible state internally. Zha was good, she had no problem admitting that to herself. She knew how to build a mech. But… But what if this time it wouldn't be enough? What if she would screw this up somehow? Lucky and the rest of the crew was her responsibility and if she'd lose one more of them…

"This seems to cause creator Zha'Ora excessive amounts of discomfort," the geth said.

Zha lifted her eyes from Lucky's chassis. She had almost forgotten she had intelligent company.

"Yes," she said. "Yes it does."

"Query: Why does repairing VI-13 (Lucky) cause creator Zha'Ora discomfort?"

She thought about it for a moment, retracting her hands and wiping them on the front of her pants. "It's not the repairing part, not really. It's… how do I explain this? It's the fact that it had to come to this, you know? That repairing him is even necessary."

The geth perked at the word 'him' and Zha realized her mistake the moment the word had gotten out of her mouth.

"Synthetics do not have gender," the geth said. "Referring to VI-13 (Lucky) as a male is incorrect."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Zha said, waving her hand around dismissively. "It's just that… I guess I'm pretty protective of my bots and lately they have… I don't know. Lucky was always my favorite. And seeing… it… in this condition just kind of rattled me."

"Hypothesis: Creator Zha'Ora is attached to her mechs."

"Well… yeah. Of course. I've built them myself. They're my kids!" she said and tried to laugh it off even if the words made her stomach curl.

"Synthetics are not – "

"Yeah, I know, okay? I know," she cut the geth before it could continue. "I was partly joking. But I do care for my crew and seeing them get hurt… get scrapped… it makes me feel lousy for not building them better so they could protect each other. And I know it's silly, I know it must seem somehow ridiculous to you, but that's just how I feel. It's… It's an organic thing, I guess."

The geth was silent for a moment, looking at her with a tilted head.

"Emotions are quite complicated," it said. "They are a hindrance."

Zha shrugged. "You'd think that. But when it's everyday part of your life, you can't really imagine what it would be like without them, you know? Or maybe you don't, I don't know. But I wouldn't say I'd want to live without them."

This seemed to silence the geth for quite a while and Zha was left to work on Lucky in peace. The silence taking over the ship was almost comfortable and for the first time after Sunei's visit Zha felt like she could relax a little. Tension in her shoulders she hadn't even realized was there was letting out. She sighed, closed her eyes and let the tension go. Then she sank back into her work.

Working on robots had been Zha's favorite past time since she had learnt to hold a wrench. There was a certain difficulty there that kept her mind just occupied enough not to think about unpleasant things. Zha found herself falling into a certain sort of haze. She tended to do that, finding a meditative state between work and sleep that let her forget about any trouble.

The geth stayed around to watch her work, providing its opinion on her process but once it realized she wasn't listening and only answered with mumbled responses, it stopped talking and just watched. It must have been the most interesting thing going around in the ship at the moment anyway.

And just like that a few days went by without an incident. Zha spent most of her waking hours working on Lucky with AI775. It wasn't much of a surprise to find out that the geth was good at robotics. It would have no doubt been able to do Zha's work for her if it had had its old arms. But Zha was more than glad to do it all herself.

By the third day they managed to get Lucky into a working condition.

There were still some severe glitches going on in there. Lucky was refusing to speak and Zha wasn't sure if it was the voice box or the programming, but she decided to get a new voice box for Lucky all the same once she got her finances back on a bit more stable grounds.

All in all, things were improving. Zha still had a lot to do until she could say they were back on track.

That was when Scribble finally decided to remind her that they were actually on their way somewhere.

Zha was still working on Lucky when the main VI spoke up.

"We're approaching our destination," Scribble said.

Zha lifted her head.

"Huh?" she said.


	26. Chapter 26

Travelling between solar systems with Mass Relay technology was amazing, it truly was a miracle to behold. It made traveling a whole lot easier and faster, and even with a crappy old ship like the one Zha owned, one could get from one end of the Galaxy to the other in just over a week. Traveling from a solar system to solar system ate fuel like crazy and Zha's ship was not what some might call 'energy efficient'. Even staying docked up ate up fuel and Zha was pretty sure there was a leak somewhere even if she hadn't been able to locate it yet. But never mind that, traveling through Mass Relays took next to no fuel.

Amazing. Truly.

Zha was not finding the prospect too shining when she finally found out where they were headed, though.

When she had asked Scribble where they were headed before, it had simply said that they were on their way to a 'safe location'. Zha had not questioned it further, far too busy with other problems, mainly sickness and Lucky. She had trusted that she could think about the destination once they were there. What an idiot she had been.

"Approaching planet, please prepare for entering the atmosphere."

Zha stood in the cockpit, arms crossed and her right hand holding her head upright. She could hardly believe it. She recognized this planet, would have probably been able to recognize it in her sleep. The Galaxy was filled with blue and grey planets, but on only one of them had seen a young quarian named Zha learn to fly her first space ship.

"Scribble," she said slowly as the ship rocked from side to side entering the atmosphere. She wasn't even trying to hide her frigid tone, teeth clenched together to form the most well kept angry voice she could muster. "What are we doing in here?"

"This planet was marked as a safe haven in my memory files," Scribble said, its boomingly feminine voice shuddering the ship. "I concluded that it would be most advantageous for us to spend a few weeks recovering here before we can come up with a solution how to deal with our new situation."

Zha was biting her teeth together so hard her jaw was starting to ache.

"It was logical," Scribble said as if in after thought.

Well, for all Zha cared Scribble could take its logic and shove it somewhere the sun didn't shine because she was not setting one foot on the planet below.

"Turn back, we are not landing," she said sternly.

"I would advise against that," Scribble said. "In approximately thirty three minutes we are out of fuel. Comparing the current fuel market, this planet has a very compatible price to gallons ratio."

Damn that machine's logic and damn the damn ship! Zha covered her visor, her heavy sigh fogging the glass.

The planet was called Gavannah. A miserable little place at the far end of the Galaxy where no one who wanted to be someone went on their own free will. It was a water-covered planet with more boats and rafts than actual buildings. It mostly hosted human settlements on its handful of small rocky islands and freighter-like boats hooked together to form floating villages. Finding a place to land on a planet like that was always a feat on itself if you didn't know the place.

"We're not landing," Zha repeated, more forcefully this time. "We can fuel up in space, we don't have to… we don't have to go down there."

"Miss Ora, be reasonable," Scribble said. "We will not make it to the fuel depot. It is in an entirely different solar system. You know this."

She did. That did not mean she wanted to admit it thought.

Damn it.

"We do not recognize this planet," AI775 said.

"Keelah!" Zha shouted turning around on her heels. "I forgot you were on board!" The rising panic in her voice was easy to hear and it seemed to alert the geth. Zha started pacing around, hitting her the heels of her hands against her helmet. "Scribble, what were you thinking? Father is going to kill me!"

"That is unlikely," the VI simply said.

Zha was not listening. Things were really going downhill, just when she had thought she'd reached the lowest low. Now Scribble was taking them to the planet where she had been born, the place where she had been brought up in. It was the place where her exiled father still lived.

There wasn't much time. They would be landing soon. Panic was setting in, making her hands shake with uncertainty. There was no time to just stand around doing nothing!

The young quarian grabbed AI775 by the arm and started dragging it along the hall.

"Proximity alert," it said, sounding rather hopeless as it tried to hold its upright position with only one leg. Zha was far too busy to feel pity.

"Get in there!"

She unceremoniously shoved the platform into the cargo hold. By then the synthetic was chirping loudly and looked like it was confused.

"Look, I need you to stay in here while we're on the ground. I need to fuel up and… and hopefully that'll be it. We'll be leaving this hell of a planet in like… fifteen minutes tops. But… But if my father finds out I'm here… It won't matter! I need you to stay there and I need you to be quiet. Do you understand me? Scribble will keep you updated while I… I deal with this. Just… Just don't let anyone see you, hear you, _smell you._ Incognito, okay?"

The geth was about to reply but Zha didn't wait to hear it before she had bounced out of the doorway. She shot a fleeting glance at the cockpit where she could see Scribble circling a landing port on a familiar floating town. She still had time. What about her crew? They were all VIs, but after all the odd behavior they had been displaying lately she might have a hard time explaining that.

Because she knew this wouldn't be a simple fuel-and-go stop. She knew her father would somehow find out that she was on the same planet and that spelled out trouble for her.

"Scribble!" she shouted. "Tell everyone to gather by the cargo hold."

"Of course."

VIs 09, 15 and 18 arrived shortly and Zha guided them into the cramped cargo hold. The geth let out a disapproving noise as VI-15 sat down next to it, pressing chassis to chassis. VI-18 took a place in the middle of the room, forcing the geth to move its leg to give it more room. All in all there wasn't much space for maneuvering in there. VI-09 climbed on top of the food packages, moving around nervously. The bot's tiny legs were clicking softly against the cardboard box and the barely audible noises it was emitting were making Zha's ears ring.

"09, get on VI-15's shoulder and shut down," she ordered, not even trying to hide her nervousness edging panic. She was panicking and she didn't have time to pretend like she wasn't. "All of you, you need to keep quiet! Maybe you should shut down while I – Wait! I need to bring Lucky here too! Oh no, there's no time, there's no time," she cried out.

Lucky was in the kitchen, sitting upright when Zha dashed in. It was staring at a wall, swaying back and forth ever so slightly.

"Come on, buddy," Zha said, forcing her tone softer as she grabbed it by the arm. "Let's get you into the cargo hold, yeah?"

The mech was showing no signs of understanding what she was saying, but it did follow after her when she guided it to where the rest of the crew was situated. She helped it sit down on the other side of the geth, making sure it was secure on its spot. It was looking up at her with unintelligent eyes and Zha cooed softly, patting its head.

"It's going to be alright," she said out loud, not quite sure if she was trying to assure the unresponsive mech or her own beating heart.

She looked at her ragtag crew of mech and the guest star synthetic sitting side by side in her cargo hold. Now with Lucky there, it was almost too crammed for them to move.

The geth was not pleased with the new situation.

"Creator Zha'Ora, this seems completely unnecessary," it said. "Query: What is going on?"

Zha closed her eyes and drew long breath, but her explanation was cut short as the ship connected to the ground. Zha lost her footing momentarily when the ship sagged down under its own weight.

"There's no time to explain," she said and shot another look at the cockpit. "All I can say is that this is not a good place for robots of any kind and it would be best if no one found out that you're here. There… there are some quarian colonies here, mostly exiles and their families. A geth is not something they want to see, to be honest. I promise I'll be as fast as I can. If all goes well no one I know will recognize me, but…" She grew quiet for a while. "Yeah. I don't see that happening."

Damn Scribble. The VI should have known better. It knew this was not a place she wanted to visit again, she had said so on multiple occasions. But there was logic behind this decision and Zha hated to admit that. If there was one planet on the entire Galaxy that she would be safe on, it was this.

"We would urge the creator to make haste so that we can leave this planet sooner," the geth said.

"Yes," Zha said. "Trust me, I don't want to be here any more than you do."

The geth's expressive plates moved up and down, the programs within the platform seemingly unable to decide which expression they wanted to convey. Zha didn't have time to let it come to a conclusion, she needed to get going while going was still good.

"Alright crew, listen up!" she said clapping her hands together. "I don't want to hear a peep from this hold while I'm gone. I want complete silence! So shut down for the next couple of… of… I don't know, shut down until I get back, alright?"

The lights on the VIs 09, 15 and 18 dimmed down immediately as they went to their off-line state, VI-15's head slumping forward. Lucky was still active, but it wasn't moving anywhere and Zha doubted it was even able to understand what she was saying. She was going to have to live with that.

"Good. Once we get out of this place, I'll come to inform you and things can get back to normal." Or as normal as they can on this ship, she thought to herself as she made her way to the airlock.

"What would you like me to do while you are gone, miss Ora?" Scribble asked.

Zha gnawed her lower lip between her teeth, humming softly as the main VI opened the door for her. "Stay up and keep the ship safe. But I don't want to hear anything from you either. Maybe if we're lucky, dad won't find out that… that we're…"

"I think it might be advantageous to go and talk to your father, miss Ora," Scribble said.

"What? What makes you think that?" Zha asked incredulously.

"We are currently experiencing some financial difficulties and I believe your father would be glad to offer his assistance."

Zha fought to make her laugh sound as derisive as possible. Too bad she could only let out a strangled snort.

"You and I have very different memories about my father," she sneered. "You better check your memory files while I'm gone to see how things really went."

The space side door opened before her and the cold and damp air that hit her the moment she stepped out managed to get through her suit and into her bones without much resistance. Scribble had landed them on one of the smaller boat towns, Zha couldn't remember the actual name, but when she'd been younger she remember her mother calling it the Rust Town. The ship had been parked onto a small landing zone on the deck of one of the largest freighters on the town and the way the actual sea faring ship she was standing on at the moment was swaying, Zha worried she would grow seasick before getting off of this forsaken planet.

Something akin to nostalgia was trying to sneak past her defences as she made her way down from her ship. The grey skies and the restless waters below, the sounds of water hitting against the ships. It was all bringing back memories. Some were good, but most of them… yeah. There was a reason why Zha would rather spend her time tinkering in space than on this wet planet.

Gavannah had its share of colonies even though Zha couldn't for the life of her understand why anyone would want to colonize it. Most of its food came from the sea and the greeneries on the ships, but there wasn't any specific reason why the Council races would want to inhabit this place. No rare resources that she knew of, no industrial possibilities, nothing. Just salty seas and lots of fish. And yet here they were. Gavannah mostly hosted human colonies, but there were a handful of secluded quarian settlements as well. Most of the habitants were exiles of course. Why would any quarian on their Pilgrimage come here? Living on a planet that was not Rannoch posed a mixture of problems for her kind, but since not many of exiles could really afford to buy a good ship it was the only option. None of the big cities in the Galaxy were too keen on selling housings to quarians, let alone those who had been kicked out, so small colonies it was.

Zha made her way down from the landing zone, steering her steps towards a small shack on the far corner of the freighter. Neon lights were blinking sadly, telling visitors to stop by to pay their docking fees before leaving. The rusted metal under her feet was damp and slick underneath her boots, all because of the seawater. It was drizzling, but that didn't surprise Zha in the least. Mist was condensing into droplets of water on the outside of her mask, making it that much harder to see where she was going and wiping the surface clean only helped for a few minutes.

Seemed like nothing had changed during her absence.

Zha's departure from Gavannah had been an abrupt one. She didn't have fond memories of it. She had had an argument with her father, one of many, and it had turned out that this one had been the last straw for her. She had taken Scribble, or the early version it had been at that point, packed the ship and left. After that she hadn't been in contact with the old man and that had been just fine with her. This was the man who had trashed her first VI, a man who had less than stellar things to say about other alien races and a man who did not believe Zha had what it took to make it out there in the Galaxy.

By the time Zha had made her way from her ship to the shack, her jaw was already aching from the clenching. She must have looked like a small ball of wet fury as she made her way into the shack.

It was a small shop with an even smaller bar with a larger than life human woman leaning on her arms by the counter. With the small tables and chairs in the shack, there was barely enough room for a tiny quarian to make her way through.

"Well hello there, darling," the human woman said warmly. She was a picture of relaxation in her worn flannel shirt and jeans. "I'm sorry to say, but we don't have food for your kind here."

"That's fine, I just came here to pay for my docking fee and to buy some fuel for my ship," Zha said curtly. The words were coming out clipped and her rigid stance made the human lift a brow.

"Sure thing, honey," she said and turned her attention to a small monitor on the counter. "Your ship that little beauty on dock fourteen?"

"That's me."

"You in a hurry somewhere?" the woman asked. "Seem awfully agitated."

"Just…" Zha started, then swallowed the words trying to climb up her throat. "Just get it done. I won't be too long."

The woman shrugged and started tapping her fingers on a small pad next to the monitors.

"Should be done in ten," she said. "Hope you have the credits."

In fifteen minutes the ship had been fueled up to its fullest and Zha had spent what little remained of her savings. She hoped against hope that she'd get off this planet before the word got out to her father that she was here, but deep down in her gut she knew there was no avoiding it. This was a small backwater planet, visitors were a hot topic and always added something new to gossip about.

Zha was just about to step out in the rain again to go back to her ship and leave for good when her Omni-tool let out a cheerful ping to let her know that she had a new message. Her insides were clenching and she tried to pretend like she hadn't heard it at all. She could just keep going, hop on her ship and go on her merry way. It wouldn't matter.

It sounded good. Really good. But Zha's feet were glued to the floor and she knew her conscience wouldn't let her leave the ground before she checked that message.

Biting her teeth together, Zha lifted her Omni-tool to her eye level and opened up the messages.

_Zha. I heard your ship landed on Gavannah,_ the message started. _Why have you not contacted me yet? I would have come to meet you at the landing area. Come home to see me._

Strict and to the point, as usual. Zha's jaw was hurting. Her father didn't care to spend time on decorating his messages with beautiful words of flattery or even false good mood. He never had. Always straight to the point, using as little words as possible to get the point across.

She wanted to cry, wanted to bash her head against the wall and kick the chairs and tables down, but she doubted the human would allow her to get that far if she did. Besides, throwing a tantrum wouldn't help one bit.

Zha squared her shoulders and stepped out of the shack and into the drizzle. She only faintly heard the human wish her luck on her travels before the door slammed shut behind her.

She wasn't going to do it. She wasn't going to go to her father. That man could rot on this miserable planet for all she cared. Last time they had seen, he had told Zha that he believed she would come crawling back home within a month when she would realize that the Galaxy out there was too much for her. Well, Zha sure had showed him. That had been years ago and she had cut all ties with the man since. And now he had the gall to tell her to come and meet him? Zha let out a derisive laugh just for her own amusement. A human worker she passed in her hurry shot her a dirty look, thinking she had laughed at him.

It would be easy to leave. Pretend like she hadn't read the message, get out of the atmosphere and never message him back. The thought was tempting. Zha marched to her ship, ready to make her dramatic exit.

But she just couldn't climb on board.

She wasn't that kind of a person.

Zha covered her visor with her hands and heaved a long sigh. Stupid. This was so stupid.

"_Visiting your father might turn out to be a good thing,_" Scribble spoke through the Omni-tool.

Zha frowned at the device, lifted her eyes to the ship, scowling under her mask. Such insubordination!

"I thought I told you and the rest of the crew to keep communication at minimal," she said. She certainly had not authorized this little bit of a conversation.

"_You did,_" Scribble said simply. "_Might I remind you of our current financial situation? I believe that we are almost out of credits. You won't be able to replenish your food and water reserve in time._"

"And that's my father's problem how?" Zha asked irritably.

"_Your father has hinted that he would happily help you if you ever had trouble with money,_" Scribble said.

"When did he ever do that?" Zha shouted into her Omni-tool. "I don't remember him ever telling me anything like that. And don't describe anything my father does as 'happy'."

"_It's all in the context,_" Scribble said, sounding all too cheerful for its own good.

Zha tried to come up with something smart to say, but ended up just groaning like a sullen teenager. She wanted to say something like she would rather die than ask money from her father, but knew it would be stupid.

This whole situation was stupid.

"_Also, if you decide that you want to continue your Pilgrimage, this might be the last time you get a chance to talk to your father. Conversing with an exile might be considered treason for someone with your… family line._"

"Oh, the joy of being me," Zha groaned. She wasn't going to get a choice on this one, was she? Everyone else was always making the choices for her, or at least that was what it felt like. She wanted to stomp her foot, maybe cry a little and go sulk somewhere.

She really wanted to do that.

How's that for a grown up?

"Fine," she said more to herself than Scribble. "I'll go see him. And what the hell? Maybe he'll convince me to stay here forever. And I'll live on this wet rock for the rest of my days with all the other exiles."

"_Your attempted humor isn't very funny._"

"Then why do I feel like laughing? I'll go, I'll say hello and leave. And stop contacting me with this crap. You know how my father is with all this… VI stuff."

"_Acknowledged._"

Great. This was just… great.


	27. Chapter 27

It never stopped raining. As long as Zha could remember, it had always rained on Gavannah. She could count the days when it had been sunny with the fingers on her two hands. And now that she was back, she wasn't that surprised to find out that nothing had changed during her absence. The whole place was still lacking in colors, the various shades of grey and blue covering everything. Even the ships that had years ago been painted in bright colors in hopes of bringing some life to the boat towns had rusted and dimmed down during the decades they'd spent docked down and no one seemed to care.

For once Zha was glad to be forced to live behind a mask. In her suit, she couldn't smell a thing. And in that she considered herself to be a winner. Fish and seaweed, the primary food sources for the human colonies, were no doubt stinking up the place. Most of the inhabitants grew used to it, but there was a good reason why no one ever wanted to visit this hunk of rock behind the Ancestors' backs.

Zha hadn't really ever had any dreams of grandeur and she had known things would be hard once she left for her Pilgrimage, but she'd been waiting for a chance to leave Gavannah ever since she turned thirteen and her father scrapped VI-01. Her first ever VI had been poorly constructed, a barely functional drone unable to communicate, but it had been Zha's pride and joy. She'd been building it in secret, using Extranet and some old blueprints she had found from her father's study and she had meant for her creation to be a surprise. She had thought that maybe her father would be proud.

Hah. Yeah. Fat chance.

Well, she was past that now, Zha tried to convince herself. She had put it behind her, moved on and everything had been forgotten. It wasn't like she woke up at night sometimes, trying to think what she had done wrong.

"We do not build AIs," he had said. Yeah. She got that. Maybe that had just been his way of warning her to never take it that far.

Heh. She doubted her father would be too happy to find out what kind of a crew she was traveling with.

Keelah. She hoped he would never find out. The yelling would never end.

Her father lived on a small island not too far off from the boat town they had landed on. It was a small settlement of a handful of houses and it was an hour's boat ride there from her landing spot. Paying the ferryman to take her there felt like selling her own soul, but what else was new? At least she could pretend on her way there that the old man was going to help her out if she asked nicely. Zha still couldn't believe that Scribble actually thought the man wanted to offer his help.

If there was one good thing to say about Gavannah, it was that the humans there didn't pay much attention to the quarians. Maybe it was just that they had grown used to them, or they were complacent as long as the exo-freaks stayed on their own islands. Whatever it was, the ferryman gave Zha an apologetic look when the young quarian slouched on her seat, looking a little more than defeated.

The island hadn't changed much either, still looking as depressed as the day Zha had left it behind. The grey rock was covered in small settlement shacks and seagull droppings and the houses had been stacked on top of each other to make up for what the island lacked in horizontal space. The only habitants besides the obnoxiously loud birds here were exiled quarians, like her father, living day-to-day lives peacefully and trying to forget which ever crimes they had committed to get kicked out of the Flotilla.

Not many people were out and about when Zha jumped out of the ferry and waved a bye to the human behind the helm. She could recognize every suit she saw, old neighbors shooting curious looks her way. Most of these people probably still remembered her fiery departure and wondered if she had come back begging. Zha ran her tongue over her teeth and pretended she didn't see them. She had no doubt in her mind that the fight she had had with her father before leaving had been the high light of the small community's rumor mill for months.

She still remembered the screaming, even thought the words were a bit hazy in her mind. Not that it really mattered who had said what anymore. They hadn't spoken since, both of them too stubborn to start up the conversation with their only remaining family.

Zha sighed. Yeah. It was great to be home.

Well, at least things couldn't get much worse, right? The thought almost made her laugh. She should have known better than to jinx it, but hey, it wouldn't be the first time she brought bad luck on herself and it wasn't going to be the last.

Zha steered her steps to the far back of the island. The plot of land was so small that one could walk from one end to the other in ten minutes. The all too familiar housing was slowly rusting near the west end and the closer she got, the worse it felt. The rain had changed from a drizzle to a real downpour during her way from the boat town to the island and now it was beating down hard on her. No surprises there. It was cold out here and even with the heavy layers of supposedly bacterial proof clothing Zha could swear the dampness was seeping through her exo-suit. But there was no way that could happen, right? That would mean there was a breach in her suit and she was hours away from another fever. Her suit should have kept her safe from all that. Knowing that didn't stop the cold from sinking its claws to her bones and chilling Zha to her core though.

She licked her lips and tried to pretend like she wasn't a nervous wreck as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. Every step felt like a feat in itself, but there was no relief in those small victories. She shouldn't have come here. Zha had known this was a bad idea, yet here she was. Feeling all but defeated, she knocked the door to her childhood home.

Nothing happened. The rain was washing over her, making her feel even more miserable. Damn that man, if he wasn't even home, she was going to… well, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Zha didn't have enough credits to make it back to her ship.

She knocked again. "Father, it's me," Zha shouted unenthusiastically. "Open up. I'm… I'm actually in a bit of a hurry at the moment, so…"

The door swung open, groaning painfully as it did. And behind it waited a familiar worn visor, grey just like hers. Her father's exo-suit was just as plain as Zha's, lacking in accessories and only colored by patches covering cuts and tears. It was dirty from whatever he had been doing before this impromptu visit.

"Zha'Ora," he greeted with a nod.

"Fha'Ora," she responded, avoiding eye contact to the best of her ability. Even if Zha could barely see her father's eyes behind his plain visor, she could feel their burn through her exo-suit. The man was sizing her up, trying to find surface to sink his claws into. It was exaggeration, of course, but Zha felt like a baby pyjak caught with a hungry varren.

"What brings you to Gavannah so suddenly?"

Fha was not moving from the doorway, effectively blocking the way into the house and leaving Zha in the rain. Zha was feeling like she was a teenager again after having failed to sneak into the house after spending the whole night with friends. She hadn't had that many friends as a kid, of course, but she was pretty sure this was how it was supposed to feel.

She was a freaking adult now. Her father shouldn't have this kind of power over her, Zha reasoned.

Yet here she was, against her will and standing in the rain. Great.

"I was – "

"You could have sent a message," he said pointedly.

"Yes, well it wasn't really my intention to – "

"I haven't heard a word from you since your departure. That is unacceptable."

"Well, _you_ didn't – "

"I take it you haven't even found anything to take to the Migrant Fleet either?"

"I have too!" she shouted.

Crap. Not what she had meant to say. Zha had wanted her father to stop talking, to let her finish just one sentence and now she had managed to shut him up. The old man's eyes had grown large under his visor and Zha's stomach was sinking low.

She didn't have anything to take to the Admiralty Board. Of course she didn't, not anymore. So why lie about it? For once Zha would have wanted to force her father to stop acting so high and mighty. She wanted the man to recognize that she wasn't a child anymore and could do things on her own. What she had thought in her head late at night staying awake on her bed was a braver and bolder version of herself, a Zha who knew exactly what to say to every remark Fha could come up with, a strong-willed young quarian with the wits and the wordplay to shut her father up. Instead she was nearly stomping her foot, fighting the tears in her eyes and the stuffy feeling in her throat, lying to her father about her Pilgrimage.

Stupid, _stupid _little quarian she was.

"Really?" her father asked and it pained Zha to hear how disbelieving he sounded. "You've actually figured something out? Well then, come on in, Zha. Tell me all about it. We have a lot to talk about."

The man moved aside, waving his arm for Zha to come with him.

"I'd rather not," she said slowly.

The silent condemning look her father was giving her made her legs move on their own accord. She could have sworn she'd started moving away from the house but what do you know? There she was, in her childhood home.

After her mother's passing the place had really started losing its shine. Not that it ever had been a fancy place to begin with. Industrial made settler houses were all from the same mold, it was nearly impossible to make them look personal and Zha had a feeling her father hadn't even tried. It didn't look like someone actually lived here. Everything was just so… clean. In that impersonal sort of way. There were no family pictures, the only furniture was what the house had come with and everything was in its right place. At least when her mother had still been around, there had been things laying about, personal belongings. Her father had never had enough time to clean up everything she had left behind when she was bumbling about absentmindedly.

Wonderful. Zha stood in the middle of the combined living room, kitchen and dining area, arms at her sides. She was staring to miss her messy ship more and more.

Fha had moved to the kitchen counter where he pulled out a small vacuum-packed meal with turian writing on it from a cooler. He was weighing it down on his hand, humming thoughtfully.

"It's been a long time since we last saw," he said, every word carefully measured and slow. He held out the food packet for Zha to take and she accepted it grudgingly. "I was under the impression that when you left, that was the last I would see of you. I was wrong."

Zha couldn't decide whether her father sounded disappointed or not, but then again she tended to forget that the man was capable of showing any other emotion than contempt, so there was that. She said nothing as she poked a sterilized straw into the packet. It was a free meal. She wasn't going to turn that down.

Fha wasn't talking either. He was clearly waiting for her to keep the conversation going, but Zha wasn't willing to play. She slurped at the food, keeping her eyes dead set on the colorful package instead of the colorless visor.

An awkward silence hung over them. Zha was dripping water on her father's clean living space and feeling bad about it.

She broke the silence first, because of course she did. She tried to tell herself that she was just trying to play nice for once. Maybe this meeting could go without her father raising his voice to her. That would be nice.

"I was actually running from a group of… from this group of pirates. The ship's automatic navigation system took me to the safest place it knew and… well, here I am."

"I don't remember my ship having navigation system in it," Fha said picking up a meal of his own.

"Well, technically it's no longer yours so I made some upgrades."

"Zha," her father said warningly.

"It's all innocent, it's… it's not even a VI, I swear. It's just a navigation system, a cheap one at that! I bought it from a merchant on Omega."

Funny how easily the lies came out of her mouth these days. Maybe if she had been a better liar back when she was younger, she could have saved herself some grief. But you live and you learn. And here she was, older and wiser.

"Hmph," was all her father said, sucking at the nutrient paste.

Zha hated this place. That was the truth. This whole planet was something so vile she had hoped she'd never have to set one foot on it. But no, here she was. It pained her to think that if she had been determined enough to pay no attention to her father's message, she'd be on her way out of this solar system by now.

"So, tell me about your Pilgrimage," Fha said finally. And there was the question she had been dreading.

"It's going well," Zha said, trying to sound as casual as she could.

"Certainly, if you've already found something to take to the Fleet. So let's hear it."

Her father's tone of voice was challenging. She could read it easily. The man didn't think that what she had found was enough. He was preparing to shoot down whatever she would say. And here's the thing. Zha could have lied. She could have kept the charade, but she didn't want to. Nothing she could say would be enough to earn her Fha's respect and she would just have to learn to live with that.

Coming here was nothing but bad planning and she would have to take responsibility for that.

"Sorry, father," she said slowly. "But I may have been a bit dishonest."

Fha'Ora lifted his head and angled his shoulders in a way that Zha knew meant he was about to open his mouth and let out a speech which would only boil down to something like: "I knew it." She didn't want to wait for it to happen, though, because she knew it would be impossible to get a word between there.

"In truth, I did have something. Something good. But I couldn't do it. I didn't have it in me. I don't want to be a part of the Migrant Fleet."

Well what do you know? For once her father didn't seem to have anything to say to that. Zha sighed and set down the emptied food package.

"I've known for a while now. I just don't want to spend the rest of my life cooped up on some other quarian's ship, spending the whole time tiptoeing around just because I'm so afraid of getting kicked out again. It's not what I want."

Still nothing from her father. Zha wasn't sure what to think about it, but if she had somehow angered Fha to the point where he had no words, Zha was fine and dandy with that. She kept talking while she still had a chance.

"Look, dad," she said curling her fingers into fists. "This wasn't a good idea. The only reason why I came here was… well, I'm in a bit of a tight spot financially at the moment and my… uh… I thought that maybe I could ask for help, but I know realize that it was a stupid idea."

"Zha," he said slowly.

"Just… let me finish, okay?" Zha pleaded. "Things have never been that well between us. Never. Even when mom was around, we didn't see eye to eye. And I… I resented that. And in a way I still do. And I know both of us said things that we shouldn't have said. Neither of us is innocent. But I just think that not enough time has passed for me."

She could see her father winding up the arguments and quite frankly she didn't want to be there to hear them. Zha made her way to the front door.

"Zha!" Fha shouted after her. "We're not done yet. Come back here. I… We need to talk about this!"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes there is!" he said following after her. "You've been gone for years and you expect me to just let you leave like this? You came here for money? I am disappointed in you, Zha'Ora!"

Zha whirled around to face her father, stomach curling with anger. "I didn't even mean to land on this miserable planet! I had a fever and the navigation system took me here. If I'd had the choice, I would have chosen any other planet in the Galaxy!"

This seemed to strike the older quarian. Fha took a step back, then squared his shoulders in a way that told Zha he was about to strike back with venom. But nothing came out. Instead her father just sagged down a bit, like a deflating balloon.

"So… You're just going to… leave?" he asked, tone surprisingly hollow.

She wasn't sure what to do with this tone of voice. Zha couldn't remember ever hearing it before. It threw her off the course momentarily, but there was no way it could have been anything but another dirty tactic, right?

"Yes," she said. "Not sure how I'm going to do that without any money, to be honest, but that's not your concern."

"You could just… stay for one day," Fha'Ora said. "Just for the night. We have so much to – "

"No," Zha said. "I really need to get going. I'd say that I'm sorry for just coming here and eating your food, but that'd be lying."

So rude. Just saying the words aloud stung a little, but that pain was quickly covered by a strange sort of pride that she had so far been able to just steamroll over her father. This wasn't how Zha remembered their past arguments going. Maybe she had actually grown up during her time away from home.

With a strong gait Zha walked back to the front door and opened it. She hadn't even had time to dry yet and she was already making her way back into the rain. Now she would have to figure out a way to the boat town on her own, but she didn't have to stay indoors to come up with a solution.

"Will we… Are you going to come and see me again?" her father asked, voice so silent it nearly went unheard. Zha gave him a look over her shoulder, then turned to look at the beating rain outside.

"I… I honestly don't know."

A lie. She knew she never wanted to see this water covered planet again, but she wasn't that cruel. She didn't have to say the words. All Zha needed to do now was to walk out, get off this island and back to her ship and she never needed to give another thought to the man that had raised her up.

Huh. Putting it like that almost sounded sad. Oh well.

But of course the universe could not let her get away that easily. In hindsight she should have seen it coming, but she didn't and that was that. It was like all the Ancestors were looking down at her and laughing when Zha's Omni-tool let out a ping that was followed by a familiar synthetic voice.

"_Miss Ora, please come back,_" Scribble said. "_We are experiencing some slight malfunctioning in here._"

Zha didn't need to turn back to see if her father had heard it and wondered what that had been.

"Who was that, Zha?"


	28. Chapter 28

The problems had started showing early on. Most of the VIs were offline, unmoving where they had shut down. They were cramped in what must have been the smallest cargo hold in the entire Galaxy, unable to move much without making a racket. They had considered just shutting down and waiting for the creator to come back and release them while offline, but after the asari's attack they were less inclined to let their guard down even for a moment.

Things started out within acceptable parameters, even if they would have preferred the kitchen to this, but at least it was quiet and calm. They had agreed to stay cooped in their corner until they would be allowed to roam free again. It was a familiar spot to them, they had relatively good experiences with it. Now that the creator was gone and most of the ship was quiet, the geth programs had some time to review all the new data they had been gathering since their capture and the extra time given for the thought process was put to good use. They agreed that creator Zha'Ora's erratic behavior and insistence that they stayed hidden for the time being meant that they were on a dangerous planet, although why VI-02 (Scribble) insisted that it was safe for the creator, they were uncertain. But all in all, the first hour or so the creator was gone, things were fine.

All but two of the VIs were offline and VI-02 (Scribble) was so silent it could've been in stasis as well, but VI-13 (Lucky) had been showing signs of agitation ever since creator Zha'Ora had left the premises.

It was moving constantly, never staying still for longer than a few seconds. It all started innocent, the mech's fingers were twitching, curling into fists and opening to lie flat on the ground. This motion repeated again and again and they could not spot a pattern for it. Every time the mech opened its servos, the metallic fingers let out a small sound hitting against the floor. It wasn't loud by any means, but in the otherwise quiet ship the sound amplified and had their programs spinning. They followed this for a while, trying to come up with a reason why VI-13 (Lucky) was doing this, but chalked it up to a glitch in the broken mech's processors and shut it out of their thoughts.

The calm was broken when their internal clock informed them that creator Zha'Ora had been gone for exactly two hours. It was longer than she had said she'd be gone, but they were not surprised. It was a common trait in the organics to be tardy, they decided not to raise alarm over it until the five hour mark. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was VI-13 (Lucky).

The mech's symptoms had slowly increased during the creator's absence, the movement of its fingers growing more and more erratic as time went by. And on the two-hour mark, it started emitting high-pitched squeals and moving its head from side to side in jerky movements. Its limbs started moving, the twitches moving from the fingers to the entire arms, the whole mech convulsing badly. The robotic body hit against the wall, clanking loudly and the cramped space seemed to just worsen the situation. Sparks flew from where its metallic chassis was hitting against the wall.

They were unsure what to do about this, or whether they should even consider interfering. Creator Zha'Ora had made it clear she needed them to stay quiet and VI-13 (Lucky) was endangering the mission – whatever it was. But they had to admit, they were just a little curious about what would happen next.

Curiosity. Another emotion to add to the ever-growing list.

Unwanted. Unnecessary. The geth did not want these emotions and they were slowing down their thought process by interrupting the important work of the programs with this pointless data. They tried to find the source of the unwelcome data, but were unable to locate a single starting point for it. The programs were buzzing with it and it was skewing their decisions with their frustrating information.

They reached consensus on the matter of VI-13 (Lucky), deciding to dismiss the malfunctioning mech's actions as simple glitches. They clearly were worse than that, but in the limited space and lighting of the cargo hold there wasn't really much they could do. They were certain that whatever noises VI-13 (Lucky) was making, they would not be loud enough to be heard from the outside. But it was rather hard to tune out the mech's racket. They tried to dismiss the data they were receiving from the VI, but found it to disturb their scans of the outside world. Another viable solution would have been to shut down and they were seriously considering that option now. Shutting down their photoreceptor, they reconsidered the stasis state.

They could not maintain this thought for long, though. The glitches that had started from VI-13 (Lucky) were starting to spread onto the other mechs as well and the remaining crewmembers were turning on around them, starting to show similar glitches.

VI-09 was the second mech to show the symptoms. It turned on with a violent twitch that almost threw it off from its spot, its legs moving around haphazardly as it tried to stand up and failed. They watched with growing interest as VI-09's claws started opening and closing with clicking sounds. The VI itself did not seem to be aware of it, unresponsive when the geth tried to contact it through a comm. link. All they received from the repair bot was static.

VI-18 was next in line, coming out of its dormant state with a convulsing jerk. It's legs started moving around as if it was trying to run and it most certainly would have hit the wall had it not been resting on its side while attempting to move. VI-15 was not far behind.

_AI775: Asking permission to contact VI-02 (Scribble)_

_VI-02 (Scribble): This is most worrisome. _

_AI775: Please elaborate_

_VI-02 (Scribble): I had hoped this problem was solved already. This time the problem seems to be coming from Lucky. _

This hypothesis was sound, they had gathered as much as well. They had witnessed the crew malfunctioning in the creator's absence, but not like this. Not this badly. What could be the cause of it? They could come up with a few solutions, a virus being most likely candidate. But where such a virus could have come for, they didn't know. It was doubtful that the asari that had attacked them was the culprit. They needed more data and tried to gain it by contacting VI-13 (Lucky) directly.

They were met with silence. They couldn't even hear static. While a handful of programs tried to find a reason to this, the majority of them focused on the continued data exchange with the ship's main VI.

_AI775: Next course of action?_

VI-02 (Scribble) was silent for a while, pondering the best way to deal with the situation. In the end it came to the same conclusion as the geth.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Attempting to shut down Lucky._

The maroon mech ceased its shaky movements, head stopping in mid swivel. It let out a whirring sound, turning its head to stare blankly at the ceiling. For a moment it was stock still like the main VI had actually managed to shut it down, but then its fingers started twitching again and VI-13 (Lukcy) let out a sound, the single word coming out clipped and broken.

"N- n- n- n- no -o -o -o…"

_VI-02 (Scribble): Unexpected. Contacting Miss Ora, immediately._

They did not try to remind the main VI that creator Zha'Ora had specifically ordered for the crewmates to refrain from contacting her during her absence. Instead they focused all of their programs on the glitching mech before them. Their conversations with creator Zha'Ora had implied that there was a sort of a hierarchy programmed into the mechs on the ship where VI-02 (Scribble) had control over the other mechs and therefore should have been able to shut any of them down without resistance. Yet here they were and VI-13 (Lucky) was putting up a fight even in its sorry state.

The other mechs were shutting down around them. VI-09 fell down on the ground as its legs curled under its body and it was unable to hold its position and VI-15 slumped down slightly to lean against the geth platform. They moved it aside to get a better view at the lucky number thirteen.

_VI-02 (Scribble): It would seem like I am currently unable to shut down Lucky. Could you please attempt hacking it yourself?_

The request surprised them somewhat. They had not expected the main VI to trust them enough to ask for such a favor. But then again, it was the best course of action currently. VI-13 (Lucky) was causing trouble and creator Zha'Ora's orders of keeping things quiet were clear. They would attempt to contact the VI first, to see if it simply was unable to form a comm. link and if that were the case, they would shut the mech down and inform the creator of the malfunction later.

The initial attempts to contact VI-13 (Lucky) were met with silence and the mech wasn't showing any signs of noticing that the geth had even tried to communicate with it. It just kept on twitching, keening and convulsing like before. Undeterred by this, they began their hacking procedure, trying to go as soft as they could in hopes that they would not fry the mech's circuitry in the process.

It came as a surprise to them when their hacking attempts were met with a firewall far stronger than they had expected from something like VI-13 (Lucky). Their soft probes were going to do nothing. The creator must have been prepared for a cyber attack, which was sensible of course.

Something was off about this. They were uncertain what it was, but the mech had turned its head to look at them now. It knew something was happening, although the level of it comprehension was still questionable.

"VI-13, shut down and wait for creator Zha'Ora's return," they said, trying auditory command just to see what would happen. They naturally had a very low ranking in the ship's hierarchy since not too long ago they were still considered a threat, but testing the ice as the organics might say was the only way they could gather more information about the situation they were in at the moment.

The mech was staring at them wordlessly and either it didn't understand what they were saying or it lacked the higher processing power to answer. They attempted another soft probing, trying to see what the problem was.

VI-13 (Lucky) flinched. It was clear that it knew the geth was attempting to gain control over it, but again they were met with resistance. VI-13 (Lucky)'s arms were twitching at its sides, its whole body shaking, but its photoreceptors were unflinchingly on the geth platform.

_AI775: Attempting to contact VI-13 (Lucky)_

Something was there. Something akin to an echo answered back to them. The VI was aware enough to receive the message, but was for some reason choosing to remain quiet.

That was unexpected. They had not considered the idea that VI-13 (Lucky) might be intentionally avoiding their attempts to contact it. Why it would do such a thing, they could not understand. Creator Zha'Ora was a sentimental organic, but they did not think she would be stupid enough to program her servants to be able to sidestep direct orders from the main VI.

But something was in there, and it was following the geth's movements with more intelligence than they had first given it credit for.

_AI775: Attempting to contact VI- 13 (Lucky)_

_VI-13: (Lucky): …_

They probed the mech with a notably stronger hacking attempt, managing to almost sneak past the firewall. This seemed to draw a reaction out of the mech. It actually contacted them through a comm. link.

_VI-13 (Lucky): Stop_

So it was capable of communication.

_AI775: Attempting to contact VI-13 (Lucky)_

The mech was squirming on its spot, distracted by the geth programs' barrage on its consciousness. And while it was trying to block out the communication attempts, hundreds of geth programs finally managed to tear down the wall keeping them out of the VI's mind. VI-13 (Lucky) might have put a fight, but in the end there wasn't much a simple unintelligent VI could do against hundreds of geth programs linked together.

They were in. Now all they had to do was shut the mech down from the inside.

But what they found was not what they had been expecting. The inside of VI-13 (Lucky)'s consciousness wasn't at all what they had built it to be.

What they found was not a VI programmed poorly to dismiss the orders given to it. Instead they were met with a very primitive AI. It was hardly even self-aware, slowly rewriting itself as the geth progressed this new information.

This was… unexpected.

Surely creator Zha'Ora wouldn't…

It wasn't logical.

It took only a handful of programs to get distracted for VI-13 (Lucky) to regain some of its control.

The mech let out a screech and suddenly the geth programs were thrown out and back into their platform. The sound emitted through the mech's voice box was loud, it could have seriously damaged organic eardrums had there been any nearby. Then, very suddenly and without a warning, the mech shut down. VI-13 went limp, falling forward.

Silence landed on the ship.

They stayed still on their spot, waiting for something to happen. They waited for five minutes, staying as still as they could, but nothing happened. VI-13 (Lucky) had shut down completely, leaving the cargo hold in silence.

What was… what was that?

_VI-02 (Scribble): This was… unexpected. I have contacted miss Ora._

They said nothing as they edged closer to the shut down mech. There was no doubt about it. VI-13 (Lucky) was not what it seemed to be and at least one question had now been answered. It was not a VI to begin with. But this new tidbit of information only worked to raise multiple new questions. Did creator Zha'Ora know about this? Had this been intentional? Perhaps the creator had worked to create an AI out of the simple mech. It seemed highly unlikely. Had VI-13 (Lucky) been an AI for a long period of time, or was this a new improvement since the mech's injury?

They had none of the answers they needed. This new turn of events made their programs buzz with curiosity, filling their servers with data they did not know how to process. Additional information was required.

_AI775: Query: Has VI-02 (Scribble) been able to track down the origin of the anomaly?_

_VI-02 (Scribble): No, I have not. For some reason I cannot reach Lucky at all. Perhaps miss Ora has accidentally severed my connection to it._

_AI775: Unlikely. Hypothesis: VI-13 (Lucky) has severed the connection. _

_VI-02 (Scribble): I'd say that's pretty unlikely as well. Lucky doesn't have the programming required for that. _

_AI775: Hypothesis: VI-02 (Scribble) is unaware that VI-13 (Lucky) is an AI._

Their connection was silent for exactly seven seconds.

_VI-02 (Scribble): What?_

The lights on VI-13 (Lucky)'s head turned on and its fingers started twitching again.


	29. Chapter 29

Perhaps she should have just muted her Omni-tool. That would have been a smart decision, considering that her crew had had the bad habit of doing everything she told them not to do lately. Yeah, now that she was thinking about it, muting her Omni-tool would have probably been the smart thing to do. Would have saved her a world of trouble.

It was too late now, of course, but knowing that didn't stop the afterthoughts from bombarding her mind. Didn't help much now, did it?

"Who was that, Zha?" Fha asked, eyes narrowing behind the visor. The temperature of the room was dropping fast.

Zha bit her lip. Technically her father had no reason to be angry, right? He didn't know she had done anything wrong, he knew nothing! So there was no reason for the old man to get angry, right? Right. Now all she needed to do was lie through her teeth and make a hasty exit.

"Who was what?" she asked rubbing her neck, thoughts flying at every direction at once. "Oh, that! Well, that was actually… that was a crewmate of mine." Zha's meek attempts at sounding confident served only to make her feel even worse. Her stomach was churning. If Scribble had just kept quiet a few minutes longer, Zha would have made it out with a head held high. Now her confidence had drained down the pipe and she was scrambling for words. "Yeah. That's right, a crewmate. She's waiting for me back at the ship. Didn't mean to stay long here anyway, she's probably just worried about me taking my sweet time here. I actually promised to get back as soon as possible, so – "

"You have a crew?" her father asked incredulously. "Since when?"

"Since I – "

"And why didn't you invite them with you, hm? You weren't even going to mention them to me, were you? Zha'Ora. I expected more from you."

"Well, I – "

"Is it another quarian on her Pilgrimage? If so, make sure she doesn't steal your ideas. She has to work it out herself like everybody else."

"Oh, um… Yes, but that's not actually – "

"Or is it some sort of an alien? Zha, it's not a human, is it?"

"Well, she's…" Crap. She hadn't thought this through, had she? Improvisation wasn't her strongest suit, for sure. She licked her lips nervously, the motion going completely unseen by her father.

"Her voice sounded funny. Is she a turian? Don't tell me she's a damn turian? Zha, I thought I taught you better than that. Or do you have trouble with your communication system?"

"No, not at all – "

"You know, the system was always wonky. I tried to fix it many times. Maybe I should come and take a look at the old beauty. It's been such a long time I've seen it. You know, since you took it with you without a warning. I'd love to see it again."

No. No, things were starting to move too fast, she couldn't get a word between her father's speeding words. Zha curled her fingers into fists, struggling to find the confidence that had driven her forward not three minutes ago.

"You know that ship used to belong to your grandfather," Fha said, walking further into the house and grabbing a waterproof coat. "Parts of it were actually from the same vessel the old man tried to take to the Migrant Fleet. They turned him down, of course."

Yes, Zha knew it. Her father had loved to tell that story to her when she was younger. She also knew that she did not want to take her father to see the old faithful. Her crew would give him a heart attack and if he survived that, he would flail Zha alive with his words. Zha bit her teeth together and moved to stand between Fha and the door, blocking the man like he had blocked her before.

"Dad," she said sternly. "You're not coming with me. I'm leaving now and you're going to stay here."

The look her father gave her burned through her suit, igniting long lost shame for raising her voice to him.

"Don't be daft, Zha," he said calmly. "You need a ride to the Rust Town and I have a boat. Let's go."

"No dad, really!" Zha said loudly, but Fha just walked past her and out of the house like she wasn't there at all. The old quarian was making his way down the side of the building and to the small dock near their house and Zha was forced to jog after him.

"I'm not going with you," Zha panted as she finally caught Fha readying the old family boat. Her lungs were burning and Zha was forced to lean on her legs and steady her breath. "I'll just ask someone to give me a ride there – "

"Nonsense," Fha scoffed. "You are coming on my boat, I will give you a ride and on our way you can tell me all about your Pilgrimage."

There was nothing she could do. The man wasn't listening to her and once again the most logical solution to the problem came kicking her in the butt. This was the easiest way to get back, but not the least painful. And nothing she said would make things any better. All Zha could do was watch with horror as everything was slowly coming crashing down around her.

Scribble was going to be sorry. If Zha was alive to seek justice later, that was.

"Come on, we're leaving," Fha called irritably from the boat.

What else could she do? Zha's feet were carrying her there before she could even process it fully. She could see her life flashing before her eyes, all the things she had done and would never be able to do again. She got in, sat down on the damp seat and let the old man take her away.

The way back to the boat town felt longer than what it had felt like coming in. It was over an hour's ride. Over an hour's journey in awkward silence with her father. Oh joy. The old man expected her to start sharing about her adventures in the Galaxy no doubt, but Zha just sat uncomfortably on her seat, hands tucked under her butt, fearing the moment they would reach the boat town. The moment they would reach her ship.

She tried contacting Scribble through her Omni-tool. She needed to know what had been so darn important that the main VI needed to ruin Zha's exit. She tried to send a message through without her father noticing, but every time Zha moved her free hand towards the Omni-tool inconspicuously, Fha turned to look at her, no doubt questioning her actions.

She needed to warn Scribble. Needed to get a word out. But she couldn't do a thing without her father suspecting something.

Zha was trapped. Trapped on this cursed little boat on the worst planet in the whole wide Galaxy. She couldn't do anything.

Oh no, that wasn't completely true. There was something she could do. Zha could panic and sweat profusely. She could cry a river under her visor. It wasn't going to help her much, though.

"So, tell me Zha, why did you decide not to go through with your Pilgrimage?" Fha asked nearly halfway to the boat town.

Zha slunk deeper onto her seat, hoping the sea would just wash her away and let her drown. She shrugged noncommittally.

"You just gave up, then," Fha said.

"What? No!" Zha cried out, hurt. "I told you, I already had something to take there."

Fha hummed quietly, the sound nearly drowning under the sounds of the boat's engine and the waves hitting against the vessel. By the looks of it, he didn't believe her and would no doubt let her know that soon enough.

"I had some… uh… I found this functioning geth equipment and – "

Her father spluttered loudly and turned to look at her. Zha couldn't see his expression but the stance of his body told her that he was not pleased.

"Are you out of you mind?" he asked. "They would have thrown you out faster than you'd had time to ask what was wrong!"

Zha stared at the old man incredulously. Why was he getting so angry all of the sudden? She gnawed at her lip, uncertain if she should even ask.

"Active geth equipment is strictly prohibited on the Migrant Fleet. I thought I taught you better than that," Fha fumed.

"It wasn't active!" Zha said. Technically she wasn't lying, since the geth platform had been offline when she had brought it on board. "And it's not like it matters anymore, I'm not taking anything to the Migrant Fleet, I'm not going back there. I'm never going to be a part of the Flotilla!"

"So you _did_ just give up."

"No, dad, I made a choice!"

Her father didn't seem to have anything to say to that, but Zha could see him fuming. The way he was holding onto the rudder, his hold so tight that the gloves of his suit were straining told her that he was furious. Why he wasn't shouting at her yet was a mystery. But he'd have time to do that later, Zha reckoned.

As the awkward boat ride finally came to a close, Fha asked where she had left the ship. A dozen or so lies flew through Zha's mind, trying to coax her to speak them out loud, but in the end the truth bludgeoned its way past her lips and her father started leading them to the port. Zha followed few paces behind him, muttering her last prayers under her breath.

They climbed up the rusty stairs to where the ship was resting like a whale carcass on dry shore.

"Ah," Fha said in recognition, a rare warm tone coloring his voice. Zha stared at the ship wordlessly, expecting it to blow up before their eyes any second now or something. She was surprised not to see her crew wailing around outside the ship, drawing as much attention as possible. She hoped against hope they were still in the cargo hold.

"The old faithful hasn't really changed that much, has she?" Fha said, hands coming to rest on his hips in his own self-assured way. "Have you thought about naming it? A good ship needs a name, not some boring code."

No, she hadn't thought about it. It wasn't like she'd had much time to think about it lately. What, with all the attacks on the ship, fever and VIs acting against her will. She hadn't really had time to think about naming her damn ship.

Zha tried to swallow her tongue, hoping that maybe she would just suffocate and all of this could be over. It wasn't working yet.

Her father started approaching the ship again, getting way too close. Zha drew in a sharp breath and ran past him to stand between the ship and the man. It was now or never, if she didn't stand up now, it might be too late.

She should have stood up back on the island. Should have said something, told the man to back down. Things wouldn't have gotten this far. But she hadn't. All Zha had been able to spout out were feeble pleas.

Maybe deep down she actually wanted Fha to find out. Maybe she wanted him to see her mechs, wanted the old man to see what she had been up to. To shake the old quarian a bit and see how he would react. The thought tasted vile in Zha's mind, like poison seeping in and she didn't like it. She was a grown up quarian, she had nothing to prove, least of all to her own father.

Zha stood steadily between the ship and Fha, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to look unmovable. Her shaking hands ruined the image somewhat, but what can you do?

"Dad," she said, words trembling just a little. "I appreciate that you gave me a ride back here. I… I really do, but I'm going to leave now. I don't want you on my ship."

Fha seemed frozen on his spot, staring at her wordlessly. The silence that hung over them felt heavy and sickly. Zha was sweating under her suit, the cloth sticking to her skin, increasing the discomfort. Rain was beating down around them, water pooling at their feet. Zha licked her lips nervously. Were they engaged in a staring contest? She wasn't exactly sure, she couldn't see her father's eyes behind his visor, but she could feel his heavy glare.

But she held her pose. Held it until Fha seemed to sag down.

"Zha," he said slowly, as if he wasn't sure what to say. The old man sounded tired, a tone Zha wasn't familiar with. "I understand. Trust me, I really do. The last time we parted, things did not end well. And I… I have wanted to apologize about the things that were said."

She could remember the heat of the argument, the anger that had felt like it was going to either boil her insides or freeze them. She could remember how sick she had felt, knowing her father had no faith in her survival. The words had been half-forgotten now, the name-calling and the angry insults, but the meaning behind them felt as fresh as it had on that night. Her father had never needed to raise his voice to deliver the worst blows. But he had made it very clear he did not believe Zha had the chances of passing her Pilgrimage or even making it on her own out in the Galaxy. And Zha had let him hear what she thought about his opinions and the way he had raised her.

It hadn't been pretty.

"I was angry," Fha said quietly. "I did not mean half the things I said."

Oh? Zha smiled bitterly under her helmet. Well, if she was to take his word for it that meant that the old man had meant the other half. Now all she needed to do was deduce which half he had meant. She bit her teeth together and tried to let out a mocking laugh. It came out gurgled and pathetic, but seemed to hit home all the same. She started backing away from Fha, slowly approaching the ship.

"Zha, don't be like that," her father said. "Stop acting like a child."

It was weak, but it still struck a nerve. Zha nearly bit her tongue off in her rage.

"If acting like a child is going to get me off this planet and away from you, then that's how I'm going to act and you're going to have to learn to live with that!" she ground out.

"No, that's not… I did not mean it to come out like that. Zha," he said.

Was he… was the old man actually choking up? It sounded like it, but Zha had never heard such a sound out of him and she did not want to believe it. She backed away some more until she was at the steps to the ship. She could just turn around and leave now. She didn't have to say a word to him. This was it.

So why the hell was she not moving?

"I… I was so happy to hear that your ship had landed on Gavannah. I thought that maybe… I… I think we should take this time and try to settle things. I want to make things right. I… I want to help you. You need money, yes? Maybe we could work things out and then when you leave, it won't be as jarring."

It sounded nice. They could work things out, her father was even offering her money. He was offering a truce, a chance to finally get things right. Zha should have been ecstatic for the chance to get things just as she wanted, but all she could think was how badly she wanted off this planet and away from this man. He'd always known what to say, twisting his words so they would hurt and cripple. This had to be one some sort of a new way to trick her, right? There was no way Fha actually wanted to help her.

Yeah. He probably just wanted a reason he could ridicule her later.

"I'm sorry," Zha forced the words out stiffly. "Really. I am. But I still won't let you get near my – "

Slowly it was starting to dawn on Zha that the universe had something against her. She wasn't sure what exactly it was, some form of karma no doubt, even if she wasn't sure what she had done wrong to deserve it. Maybe in a previous life she had wronged someone and now the world was getting a kick out of torturing her. Whatever it was, it was something big. The least the world could do for her was to let her finish one sentence, but apparently that was just too much to ask for. A loud metallic screech shot through the ship behind her and she could feel the metallic hull shuddering under some unforeseen force. Zha turned around slowly, expecting to see the old rust bucket torn in half, smoke rising out of it at least while dread made a permanent home in the pit of her stomach.

That had been unmistakably synthetic sound, a robotic screech of anguish. It meant something was wrong with her crew inside and someone was hurting.

The back of Zha's neck was prickling and she became acutely aware of her father's presence. There was no way the old man would not recognize a synthetic sound when he heard one. The universe would not let her get away from this one.

"What was that?" Fha asked loudly. "Did it… did it come from the ship?"

Zha's mouth was as dry as a desert as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation. But her brain was stuck, mouth opening and closing without a peep making it out. Her hands were sweaty inside her gloves and shaking so hard it must have looked like she was having a seizure or something. But her father was not paying attention. He wasn't even looking at her, his eyes fixed on the ship.

The man looked like he was about to make a run for it and force his way to the ship whether Zha wanted him there or not.

"What? Uh… I didn't… hear anything," Zha said, the most unconvincing lie stumbling out of her mouth and falling flat on the ground like a dead fish.

That earned a look from her father, a withering one, but a look all the same.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked. "Your whole ship was shuddering."

"Whaaat?" she asked, voice reaching higher pitches. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" the man barked.

"So weird! I better…. I better check it out. You wait out here while I take a look inside," Zha spoke hurriedly, tapping at her Omni-tool. "_Scribble!_" she whisper-shouted into it. "Let me in right now!"

The airlock opened with a groan and Zha slipped in before her father could stop her. She could see the man reaching for her and panicked a little.

"Wait out!" she shouted frantically. "I'll check if it's safe. I think I… I think I know what's going on!"

That didn't seem to calm Fha down, but he had no time to complain. Zha closed the space side airlock door, wondering if she'd be able to manually lock it so her father wouldn't try to force his way in. Maybe she should bar the door with something. Maybe with the mangled corpse of whichever mech had decided to start causing ruckus in her absence.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's note:**_ Oh boy, life sure got in the way of my hobbies. So sorry for no updates in a while, things got really busy all of a sudden and… well… excuses, excuses. I'm trying to get back on track and start updating twice a week again, hopefully things will go back to normal now._

* * *

The ship was silent for exactly three seconds before another unearthly screech filled the corridors. Zha had to reach for her helmet's audio receiver and turn it off for a moment, but that only served to muffle the sound. It was terrifying and for a moment Zha was too frightened to move further into the ship, her feet all but glued to the airlock's floor.

No. Her crew might be in trouble. She didn't have time to stand around doing nothing! She turned her earpiece on again. She needed to hear this.

"Scribble!" she shouted loudly, her voice wavering only a little as she started stomping further in. "What's going on in here? This has better be important, or I swear – "

"I am so sorry, miss Ora," Scribble said and its voice made the ship floor rumble under Zha's feet. The main VI actually managed to sound distraught, another addition to its communication software no doubt. Zha would have to look up what Scribble had been downloading from the Extranet. The last time she had given her VIs a chance to browse the net on their own, one of them had managed to download a virus and it had taken hours to get rid of it.

"I hear an apology, I don't hear an explanation," Zha said.

"I didn't know what else to do, miss Ora," Scribble said. "I cannot get a hold of Lucky and it is out of control! Our guest has brought something to my attention and I have been trying to deal with it, but I'm afraid my understanding of these things is simply too lacking and I think it might be for the best if we left this planet as soon as possible to deal with it elsewhere."

"Oh really?" Zha asked stepping into the cockpit. Nothing there, thank the Ancestors. "I think it was you who was so adamant that we come here." Not that she didn't agree. Getting out of Gavannah's atmosphere seemed like a pretty sweet idea and if that meant she could ditch her father and maybe cry about it later, then even better.

"I was missing some important information when I made that decision. I have now been informed that our current situation might not be as… simple… as I had previously assumed."

Zha left the cockpit, slowly making her way towards the cargo hold. The door was still closed, so her crew should be in there. She drew a breath through her teeth.

"I'm going to need you to give me a bit more descriptive explanation, thank you very much," she said, hastening her steps.

"I assumed it to be a simple malfunction. Something similar has occurred on a handful of occasions before," Scribble said, sounding way too vague. "I have been working on it."

"And I wasn't informed of this because…?" Zha asked, reaching the door and stopping. She could hear something trashing inside. Suddenly she was feeling nervous about it. It sounded more like someone had locked a rabid beast inside.

"…No data available?" Scribble said.

Zha grit her teeth together. "What?" she asked through them. "Don't start with that crap. Did the geth teach you that? If you're going to tell me that the geth has started teaching you how to – "

Another inorganic screech filled the ship and Zha stumbled back in surprise. The sound was too loud, it felt like it was going to tear her eardrums to pieces. It was louder this time, loud enough to cause actual physical pain and Zha tried and failed to shut down her helmet's earpiece again.

It was coming from the cargo hold.

"What the hell was that?" she asked nearly inaudibly, ears ringing.

"I'm so sorry, miss Ora."

Something in the cargo hold smashed against the door hard. Zha took another step back, hitting against the corridor wall behind her. Her hands were trembling at her sides.

"Was that…?" She couldn't finish the question.

"That was Lucky."

Zha's fingers curled into tight fists and a sudden burst of determination filled her gut.

"Open to cargo door!"

"Are you sure that is wise, miss Ora?"

"Now, Scirbble!" Zha all but shouted.

"Yes, miss Ora."

The door slid open with trouble, mainly because there was a maroon mech leaning against it. Lucky stumbled back, letting out unintelligible chirping sounds. It spotted Zha immediately, the lights behind its eyes shining brighter. Suddenly it lunged at her, moving fast and smooth, a stark contrast to the way it had been when Zha had left it in the cargo. The quarian didn't even have time to yelp before it had grabbed her by the arm.

For a fleeting moment Zha thought it was attacking her. She thought it was going to tear open her suit and expose her to the germs inside the ship. It didn't, though. The moment its fingers curled around her upper arm, it stopped dead in its tracks, all of its movements ceasing and it just stood there, holding tight onto her arm.

"Uh… Lucky?"

The mech remained still, swaying only lightly to indicate that it hadn't completely shut down. Its hold was tight, nearly painful and it was starting to block the blood flow on her arm.

"Lucky, I'd like you to let go of my arm," Zha said slowly, uncertain how the mech would react if at all. It had been nearly catatonic when she had left the ship. "You are holding on too tight."

At first it didn't move at all. Even the mech's swaying stopped. Then, very slowly, the hold on her arm relaxed until VI-13 pulled its hand away and stepped back.

"Thank you," she said slowly, speaking as softly as she could. Zha felt like she was trying to calm down a wild animal or something, fearing that it might suddenly snap and bite her.

Something was wrong with this picture. When she'd left, VI-13 had been barely functional, unable to move without someone giving it the order and then leading it by the hand. That clearly wasn't the case anymore. Here Lucky was, looking down at her like nothing at all was amiss.

Zha peered behind the mech to the cargo hold. All the other bots were where she had left them, turned off like they were supposed to be. The geth was moving to stand up and by the looks of it, there had been some scuffling while she was gone. The geth platform had some fresh scratches on its chassis and arms.

She looked at Lucky again. It hadn't been harmed in the process by the looks of it.

"Scribble," Zha said, keeping her voice calm and quiet. Lucky seemed to perk up at her the sound of her voise, chirping something and then dimming down again. "I would like to have an explanation. Right now, if possible."

The geth had managed to get upright using the shut down mechs as leverage and was hobbling towards the cargo door. Its presence seemed to agitate Lucky as the maroon mech started chirping again, more loudly this time. It quieted down when Zha rested a hand on its back, though.

"During creator Zha'Ora's absence, VI-13 (Lucky) started exhibiting severe glitches," the geth said. "Attempts to shut down VI-13 were met with unexpected resistance."

"Resistance?" She looked up at Lucky. The mech had gone back to its unresponsive state, no longer reacting to anything that was happening around it. "What kind of resistance?"

"After both VI-02 (Scribble) and the programs within this unit had tried to shut down VI-13 (Lucky) this unit was requested to hack VI-13 (Lucky) to shut it down this way and new information was discovered," the geth continued.

Before it could say another word, though, Scribble spoke up.

"Lucky shut down soon after but refused to stay offline. Perhaps you should allow me to take a closer look at Lucky's programming to see what the problem is," it said.

Zha nodded slowly, patting Lucky's arm absentmindedly. She had been completely unaware that her VI-13 was able to resist Scribble's orders. If that was the case, then there must have been a serious flaw in its programming. A flaw she had been unable to locate. Maybe it would be for the best if Scribble took a look at it. Maybe it would be able to find what the problem was.

"VI-02 (Scribble) is withholding important information," the geth said.

The ship was quiet for a moment. Zha frowned under her visor.

"What? What do you mean? Scribble?"

"No, it's nothing. Miss Ora, it's nothing important, do not worry about it."

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up on their ends.

"What are you not telling me?" she demanded, fighting to keep her tone level.

"I will deal with it, miss Ora, please leave it be."

No. That was not… Scribble wouldn't just…

Zha whirled around to look at the geth.

"What is Scribble not telling me?" she asked shakily.

"Please, Zha, you don't want to – " Scribble started.

"During our hacking attempt it was discovered that VI-13 (Lucky) is not a virtual intelligence. It is in fact a very simple, self-improving AI."

Zha's ears were ringing and this time it wasn't because of a loud inorganic noise, but a handful of calmly spoken words. The ship was so quiet that the geth's words seemed to echo around. Or maybe it was just the sound that the words made as they collided with Zha's reeling mind, bouncing around in her head, repeating over and over again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What?"

The geth's expressive plates moved up and stayed there.

"Is something wrong with creator Zha'Ora's organic auditory receivers?" it asked. "Has VI-13 (Lucky)'s loud screeching damaged creator Zha'Ora's ears?"

No. No it hadn't, but Zha would have loved to blame all of this on an injury. Maybe she had heard wrong. Maybe she was going deaf and imagining things.

Yeah. Sure. Like she'd be able to hear something like that wrong.

She couldn't get a word out and none of the synthetic shipmates were willing to give her an out. They were all just waiting for her to start talking, giving her time to see how she would react. They knew organics were a bit on the slow side, taking their sweet time understanding things. And Zha's brain was absolutely refusing to process this.

Zha was sweating under her suit, breathing irregularly. Her fingers were dancing at her sides, nervous movements she wasn't even trying to stop. Her mouth tasted stale and something akin to panic was rising near her gut, curling around her lungs and making it impossible to draw long calming breaths.

"There's… there's no way," she squeaked. "I didn't… That doesn't… Keelah."

She leaned her whole weight against the wall behind her and nearly slid down to sit on the floor. She probably would have found herself curled on the floor crying if the geth hadn't grabbed a hold of her arm, forcing her to stay upright. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or not, but her panicking mind didn't have time to think about it.

Scribble was saying nothing. All Zha could hear was her own breathing. She bit her teeth together so hard it hurt.

There was no way. It had to be a lie, even if she couldn't for the life of her understand why the geth would lie about something like that. She hadn't built her mechs to be AIs, that had never been her intention. And one wouldn't just _accidentally_ build VIs into AIs, right? It wouldn't be so easy to program synthetic beings into sentient creatures.

Yeah, that was a nice thought. But the entire history of her species disagreed with her.

"Scribble?" Zha said with a shaky voice.

The main VI was quiet for a beat too long. Then it said: "I can confirm it."

A strangled giggle escaped Zha's lips and she tore her arm free from the geth's hold. The quarian pressed her palms against her visor and started pacing. Synthetic eyes kept following her movements and it was making things worse.

She had so many questions. How long had this been going on? Had she built Lucky to be an AI from the beginning or had this been a slow process of accidentally upgrading it into sentience? And what did the geth mean by saying that Lucky was self-improving? Was Lucky rewriting its own software right now? What would that mean for her? What would that mean for her crew? How many of her other crewmates were AIs?

Zha stopped on her tracks, hands sliding down on her visor. That was a very good question. How many of the others were like Lucky? Slowly it started to click in her mind, the big picture forming before her very eyes. Seeing it all… it made her feel like one big idiot.

"Scribble…" she breathed out, the one word trembling with trepidation. That word, the name of her main VI sounded too loud in the quiet ship, too loud for her own ears. Zha's tongue caught to the top of her mouth, too dry to move.

"Yes, miss Ora?"

"You're an AI as well, aren't you?"

The following silence felt too awkward to be anything but avoidance of the question. It wasn't something a simple VI should have been able to do.

"That is quite an odd assumption," Scribble said.

Zha licked her lips. "You didn't answer the question."

"I do not understand the question."

She nearly bit off her tongue in her anger.

"What is there to understand?" she shouted. Lucky flinched violently at her voice, letting out a panicked chirp. "It's a simple yes or no question!"

Nothing. She got absolutely nothing out of the VI in control of her ship. Zha stomped her foot on the floor like an angry child.

"VI-02, I want an honest answer out of you right this instant! I want you to say yes or no, tell me the truth and I want you to tell it to me now!" Her voice was reaching higher pitches, but she didn't care. She was sick and tired of this day, this planet and her cursed existence and all she needed was a douse of honesty out of someone! This day was not going as planned.

Little good did her temper tantrum do. The ship was as quiet as ever as if Scribble had suddenly lost its ability to speak. Zha's body was trembling something awful and she was pretty sure she was going to pop a vein soon if she didn't relax. But Scribble still wouldn't speak up.

The geth was standing next to Lucky, following this exchange with raised expressive plates. Zha whirled around to face it, hands held tight at her sides.

"You," she forced through her teeth. "Is Scribble an AI?"

The platform's expressive plates fell flat against its head, then moved forward to something resembling a frown.

"This unit does not have enough information," it said. "More time to process is required."

"Then how did you find out that Lucky was an AI?" she asked stomping closer and lifting an accusatory finger to probe at it.

"Proximity alert," the geth said, but Zha just swatted at it.

"What you did to Lucky, I want you to do to Scribble. I _need_ to know the truth!"

"Miss Ora, that is not – " the main VI started.

"What?" Zha shouted. Scribble actually sounded scandalized and it annoyed Zha beyond measure. "You don't want someone probing around your mind, Scribble? Just tell me the truth! Yes or no, are you an AI?"

"No data available."

Zha screamed in frustration and banged her head against her fists. This frustrating little… whatever Scribble was… was driving her up the walls!

"You!" she said pointing at the geth. "I want an answer out of her! Tell me how it is!"

"Synthetics beings do not have genders – "

"Do not start arguing with me, geth!" Zha screeched. "Don't you dare!"

"Creator Zha'Ora is not thinking straight. Lying down and resting is recommended."

"Well I recommend you start hacking my main VI or your butt is flying off my ship and onto Gavannah, a planet _filled_ with quarian settlements!"

The geth's expressive plates smoothed out, clearing any expressions it had been trying to emote. Zha felt her mouth dry up as she waited for its reaction. She hadn't meant for it to come out like that, like a threat, but… to be honest… what had she expected? She struggled to swallow, standing stock-still.

"Creator Zha'Ora is not in a right state of mind," the geth said, its words coming out slow and clear, somehow sounding menacing even though it had probably tried to go for the calming tone. "She would not say such things if she was thinking clearly."

That was probably true, but in her boiling mind she just wanted to scream and maybe throw a wrench at the geth. By some miracle she managed to stay put and keep her mouth shut.

She started counting back, starting from a hundred, and going down slowly, giving every single number time to sink in. Zha breathed through her nose, forcing her heart to slow down its unrelenting beating against her ribs. She had to empty her mind for a moment, stop thinking and just… stop. She reached zero, then kept going until she reached negative hundred and shook her head.

Raging wasn't going to get her far and burning all the bridges around her was a stupid plan. What she needed was time to process this, time to think it over and maybe do some crying while she was at it.

Thinking it over, she had to admit the signs had been there. Zha had wanted to avoid it, think it was anything else, but here they were. She had built an AI. And probably not just one, if Scribble's actions were anything to go by.

Now if only she'd know what to do about it.

"Alright," Zha said dejectedly. "Alright. Well, I can't say that this comes as a complete surprise." She took in a long breath through her nose and let it all out through her mouth. For a moment she couldn't see a thing through the fog on her visor. "This certainly explains… some things. You… all of my crew had been taking a lot of liberties lately."

Scribble remained quiet. Zha had a bad feeling that it was sulking. It was actually sulking. The thought made her head spin and knees wobble.

"We need to get out of this system," Zha sighed. She was so done with this crap. "I need to… I need to think about this."

She had never really understood the panic that had followed the realization that the geth had developed sentience. She'd always thought that people had overreacted big time and that had ended badly for her kind. Now though… now she had a new perspective for it and it was leaving her very tired.

"Scribble, if you could please… start the engines and we could get going."

The main… uh… Scribble remained quiet but the loud hum of the engines let Zha know that at least it had followed the order. So… at least there was that.

Keelah. This thing was getting more and more complicated. Zha's head was starting to hurt.

Zha dragged her feet as she made her way towards the cockpit. The ship was humming but it wasn't moving.

"Why aren't we leaving this wet rock behind?" she asked irritably, expecting Scribble to keep up its sulking. If the… if Scribble was expecting an apology, it was going to be waiting a long time.

Zha turned to look back. Lucky was standing in the middle of the corridor, staring ahead motionlessly. The geth was nowhere to be seen, probably sitting in the kitchen or something. Zha turned back around. They still weren't moving.

"Scribble, why are we still here?" she asked, trying to sound calm and collected.

For a moment it didn't say anything. Then, as if just speaking out loud was a feat in itself, Scribble reminded Zha of a very important little tidbit.

"Your father is still waiting for you outside."

Well…

Crap.


	31. Chapter 31

She was so not into this. Zha'Ora was so done, she didn't want to talk to anyone, she didn't want to think. All she wanted to do was crawl under her covers, curl into a fetal position and stay there for a few hours, few days, maybe a week. Her head was overheating thanks to all of this new information she had learned from her fake-VI crew and she needed time to mull over it.

Thinking about her father was not helping one bit. Her already overflowing head was being fed new things to stress about and Zha wanted to do nothing more than force the ship out of this solar system. So what if that would probably end with Fha burning to a crisp thanks to the quick takeoff? So what if she'd feel bad about it later and keep herself up at night thinking about what her father must have been thinking? Zha didn't have to worry about it, she hadn't even wanted to meet her father in the first place!

"It is highly likely that creator (designation unknown, relation to creator Zha'Ora) will call authority if creator Zha'Ora does not reassure him before leaving."

"Call authority?" Zha asked exasperated, looking at the geth platform with tired eyes. "On Gavannah? You clearly do not know this planet."

"The geth have not previously visited this planet," AI775 said.

Zha sighed and rubbed the front of her helmet. They were currently standing in the cockpit, Zha peeking out the window to spy her father walking around in nervous circles just outside the ship. He was there and showing no signs of leaving any time soon. She wanted to tell Scribble to just get flying, leave the old man wondering. There was just one big problem in that little dream of hers.

Zha'Ora might have been a coward, but she was not a heartless asshole. And despite everything, that man was still her father.

She gnawed her lower lip, a few bites away from drawing blood.

"It is recommended that creator Zha'Ora talk to creator (designation unknown, relation to creator Zha'Ora) before leaving in order to relieve the stress creator Zha'Ora is feeling at the moment."

"Yeah?" she asked and took another peek over the window. "'It is recommended', huh? Can't you just say that you're recommending that?"

The platform's expressive plates moved up and down, Zha could hear them whirring, but she was far too busy willing her own father to get going to look up and see what emotion the platform was trying to mimic now. She was crouching on the ground, on her knees and hands on the window, trying to make it so she could see Fha but he would not spot her if he accidentally looked her way. So far she had managed to look ridiculous in her own ship but at least her father hadn't yet seen her there, so there was that.

"This seems to cause creator Zha'Ora high amounts of stress," the geth said.

"Really? I couldn't tell!" Zha hissed, turning to look at it, shooting the platform her dirtiest glare. It was pointless, of course, but that did little to stop her.

"Query: Was the last statement sarcasm?"

"Yes,_ asshat! _Yes that was!"

"The term 'asshat' is not familiar with this unit. Please explain."

Zha groaned and hit her visor against the console she was currently hiding behind. She really should have learned to speak with synthetics by now, shouldn't she? But she had lived under the impression that her robotic crew hardly even understood a thing she said, filtering out her useless prattle anyway.

You learn something new everyday.

"This causes creator Zha'Ora undue stress. Suggested solution: Platform AI775 will deal with the situation."

What? Zha lifted her head, looking at the geth, not really understanding what it was suggesting.

"If you're saying that you will kill my father – "

"No," the platform said quickly, lifting its hands up in a cheap mockery of trying to appease her. It came out kind of awkward, in an endearing "well, you tried" sort of way. "Suggested solution: This platform will inform creator (designation unknown, relation to creator Zha'Ora) that the ship is about to leave and that creator Zha'Ora does not wish to exchange any more unnecessary data with creator (designation unknown, relation to creator Zha'Ora)."

"And give the old man a heart attack at the same go," Zha said turning to sit on the dirty floor of the cockpit, leaning her back against the consoles. "Sweet of you to offer, but I don't think a geth appearing out of my ship is going to reassure my father."

There was only one way to deal with this and Zha knew it. She was only making it worse by prolonging the inevitable. Just like when she had been an awkward teen instead of an awkward adult and gotten into fights with Fha. Afterwards she would lock herself in her room, waiting for all of it to blow over. It never helped, only made things worse in the long run.

The smartest thing she could do was to go out there, say her good byes as fast as she could and leave. But she knew it wouldn't be that easy.

She'd always had a hard time getting through to her father. Well, she mostly had a hard time getting a word out when having an argument with him. Running away would have been so much easier.

No, she had to do this. The faster they could get off of this planet, the faster she could get back to thinking about… all of… this AI stuff.

Zha shuddered.

"Query: Does creator Zha'Ora wish for some other crewmember to take care of the situation?"

Zha sighed but got up on her feet all the same, dusting off the front and the behind of her suit.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll go talk to him. Now. Right now. Keelah. Ancestors watch over me."

The geth platform observed her as she passed it. It had been remarkably quiet in the ship after that little confrontation maybe half an hour ago. VI-09, VI-15 and VI-18 were still in the cargo hold, quietly in stasis like they were supposed to, Lucky was in the kitchen, staring at a wall or something and Scribble had kept mostly to itself after its little secret had come out. AI775's expressive plates were moving nonstop, seemingly unable to decide which expression to keep. Or maybe that was its way of showing that it was thinking, that the programs within the platform were running on something big and they had not reached consensus on it yet. Zha could always ask, but she had a feeling there were too many thoughts in her head as it was.

"Scribble, please open the airlock," she called out.

Without saying a word, the main VI… well, the AI of the ship, if Zha was going to be honest with herself, opened the shipside door, letting her step in and wait for the other door to open.

Fha stopped moving the moment the door opened. From the inside of the ship, it had looked like the old man's pacing was relentless, like it was his life's mission to carve a permanent circular path on the landing spot with his feet. But the moment the ship let out a sound and the airlock opened, he turned to look at it expectantly.

Zha stood there a moment, trying to tell herself that she had made a decision and needed to hold onto it. Her split mind was trying to tear her apart, telling her to get in and go out at the same time, to have a fit and to bottle it all up. It was telling her to go scream at Scribble some more and to swallow the words and sulk in a corner.

She was having a hard time deciding which voice to listen to.

"Is everything alright?" Fha asked. He wasn't even trying to hide the annoyance from his voice as he started to make his way towards the ship. Soon enough he was at the airlock, looking ready to push her aside and get in.

Zha held her spot, blocking his view in.

"Yeah, everything… everything's just fine, dad," she said. "We're just about to leave. I thought you should know."

He was quiet for a moment. Then the old man crossed his arms. A bad sign.

"Oh?" was all he said.

Zha drew in a breath and held it for a moment. She looked up at the sky, still grey and cloudy. Ancestors, she thought, if you've ever felt even a little bit of pity for me, let it show now.

"Yes," she said evenly. "I was never supposed to come to this planet in the first place and the only reason I did was because of my ship's navigation system. It was a mistake and I'm sorry for it. But we are leaving now and I wanted you to know that. I… I don't want you to worry about anything, I'm fine. I've been doing really well on my own and I'll continue to do so even if I never might get to be a part of the Flotilla. To be honest, that sort of life, cooped up with all the other quarians, I don't think it would suit me. And what I don't know, I won't be missing."

Wow. Impressive. That had almost sounded like an entire argument and she had barely even stuttered. Zha stood up straighter, waiting for her father to speak up.

He didn't. Not for a while. Fha just stood there, looking at her wordlessly and not for the first time Zha hoped she could see his expression to get even a glimpse of what he might have been thinking.

"Zha," he said softly, voice nearly inaudible. "You have finally grown up."

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but that was definitely not it. She tried not to tilt her head, feeling like the geth unit had ruined that expression for her for good. But she just could not help it, her head just tilted on its own.

"Uh… What?" she said slowly.

"You have finally grown up to be a woman," he said, sounding a bit choked up and Zha was starting to panic. This was not a conversation she wanted to be a part of, whatever it was.

"Yeah, sure," she said slowly. "I've been an adult legally for a few years now, dad."

He just shook his head like she was the one talking crazy talk. But he stepped back all the same.

"I wish you luck, Zha'Ora," he said. "I wish you all the luck in the world. The Ancestors will be watching over you on your way."

Yep. Crazy talk. Zha nodded awkwardly. "Neat," she said. "I'm just going to leave now, dad."

He waved at her as she climbed on board of her ship again. She was almost out of it now, almost home free when Fha called after her one more time.

"I will put some money to your account. Just enough that you will get by," Fha said. "And if you ever need any help, financially or otherwise, remember that you are always welcome back to my house."

She didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure how to react to this. So instead, she closed the door between herself and her father, waving an awkward bye to the old man. Safely in her ship Zha breathed a sigh of relief. If she never got to touch the ground of this planet, it would be too soon.


	32. Chapter 32

It was only after they had left the solar system that Zha finally let herself slump down. She fell to sit on her bed, back resting against the wall behind her. Her body felt like it had been sucked dry of all of its juices and she barely had the energy to move, much less think about important things.

One thing was certain. The day could have gone a lot better. Sure, it hadn't been a _complete_ disaster, her father was still blissfully unaware of the company she kept and by some miracle Zha had actually managed to impress the old sourpuss. That was… great. Well, it was, it really was, but she still felt hollow. Like they had left some things unfinished. She didn't like the idea that she would have to go back to that backwater planet to fix whatever it was that was bothering her. Everything should have been fine and dandy! She was in speaking terms with Fha again, wasn't that something?

Yet she felt oddly empty. Her father's words weighed nothing on her soul, they were nothing but words, they gave her no comfort.

Maybe it was the tiredness talking.

Yeah. That was it, she was just so damn tired thanks to the clusterfuck that had been her day. She'd be feeling a lot better once she'd get a good night's sleep and some food in her system.

Yep. That was it.

But even with that little ray of sunshine, the rest of her day had been something she wasn't looking forward to repeating ever again.

And to think that all of it was because Scribble had decided to torment her by sending them to Gavannah while she was sick. Most of it could have been avoided had the synthetic brain of the ship not taken advantage of Zha's weak state. If she had been in her right mind and asked where they were going in the first place, they wouldn't have ended up where they were, she wouldn't have been forced to go to meet her father and Lucky wouldn't have had his separation anxiety panic attack… thingy.

Hold on. Zha sat up a bit straighter. Scribble should have known better. Even more so if it was an AI. Zha had made it clear that she didn't want to have anything to do with Fha and Scribble had known it. It had made the decision for her, forcing her to seek her father out and all because of… what? Money?

Zha pulled out her Omni-tool and logged on to her bank account through Extranet. At least Fha had kept his word. He had put a few hundred credits to Zha's account. Enough to buy some food, maybe antibiotics if things took a turn, but not for fueling up the ship for long distance flights. So in the end even that hadn't worked out too good.

Useless anger was simmering under Zha's skin, making her skittish. She sunk deeper into herself, slumping down so low on her bed that she was sure her back would permanently dislocate if she didn't find a more ergonomic position.

Scribble had brought them to Gavannah on purpose, going against Zha's orders and now it was starting to make sense. Maybe it had done it just because it could, maybe it had been testing its limits. Who knew? She could have asked the AI itself, but if Scribble was not talking to her, she would not talk to it either. They'd just have to wait and see who'd crack first. Zha huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

She felt hurt, quite frankly. Hurt that it had taken this long for her to find out about her crew's little secret. She was the captain of this unholy bunch, she had built them herself, built them from a scratch. Zha had treated them well enough, taken good care of them. Her mechs had always been well cared for, even if they were a bit… scrappy. Hey, there was only so much one poor quarian could do! She might have not always used the kindest, best words when addressing them, but she'd been good to them, right? So why had it taken this long for her to hear about this? And Scribble had been trying to cover it up, it was the geth that had given them out in the end.

Was Scribble truly that afraid of her that it wouldn't tell her that it was intelligent, sentient and so much more than Zha had originally created it to be?

Zha turned to her side and pulled her legs against her chest, hugging them closer. Scribble must have known that Zha would never harm any of them, not even if one or two of them were actually AIs instead of VIs. Right? Surely it knew…

It would have been so easy for Scribble to just… say it. Just like that. "Hey, miss Ora, I'm an AI now. Surprise!" But no, playing pretend and laughing behind her back had probably been so much more entertaining. Maybe VI-02 just liked to see organics squirm.

Well, prepare to observe one hard at work. Zha curled deeper into herself, planning on never getting up again. She was scowling at her bed covers, mouth a tight line.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask. They were all spinning in her head, going around and around, twisting her brain into a pretzel. So many mysteries, inconsistencies, things she wanted to know. How long had this been going on? How long had Scribble been sentient? Zha had had VI-02 with her ever since she had first left Gavannah when she was fresh off to her Pilgrimage. The ship and the drone had been her only noteworthy belongings. She had taken 02 with her everywhere, upgrading it whenever she had enough credits to pay for it. She was pretty certain Scribble hadn't been sentient back then. Just a simple VI. There was no way that all of this could have started that early on, was there? No, she doubted that. It must have been a gradual growth, upgrade and update after another bringing Scribble closer and closer to independent thought. If it had been something more back then… No. There was no way. Those had been the hardest years of her life, all alone in the Galaxy. She would have needed a friend back then, but all she had had was a drone with overly cheerful voice and absolutely nothing to say.

There were tears in Zha's eyes. Stupid little things, useless! Her nose was runny as well, but she refused to sniffle in fear of revealing her sorry state. She was not going to cry because of this! She bit her lip until she tasted blood. This feeling of betrayal and sadness was uninvited, stupid, stupid, stupid. If it had been Scribble's conscious choice to keep information this important from Zha, then so be it! She wasn't going to care. She was going to be just fine!

…

It didn't help. Zha was still feeling like shit and trying to rile up her anger was just leaving her more confused. She swallowed down a whimper that had been trying to climb up her throat and mentally stomped it until it was dead. The damn thing was fighting to its very last breath, but in the end Zha managed to squelch down the audible signs of crying.

The feeling might not have gone away, but at least no one else knew about it.

Huh. For some reason knowing that didn't help her feel any better either.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, curled on her bed and swallowing down bitter tears. It was for a while, for sure, but she didn't bother to see the time when she finally decided to roll off her bed. What she knew was that they had made a Mass Effect jump some time ago and were now on their way to… somewhere. No doubt Scribble was going to surprise her again with something new and wonderful. But if the main VI… the main AI of the ship wasn't going to ask her opinion, she wasn't going to go looking for a fight.

Her crying had made the front of her visor fog up something awful. She couldn't reach to wipe it away, naturally, so all she could do was to wait for the dampness to evaporate. It was a good thing that she knew her small ship's layout like the back of her hand. At times like this, nearly blind thanks to her trusty visor, Zha was glad to own a small space ship instead of one of those fancy big ones. It was rare to feel this thankful for something that had bothered her more than a few times in the past, but right now Zha was willing to take any relief she could get. Anything to distract her from this horrible feeling that was coiling in her stomach.

Following the corridor with a hand on the wall to keep her on the right track, Zha made it to the kitchen where Lukcy was waiting.

It hadn't moved much since she had seen it take its place there, standing up straight and staring dead ahead at a wall. It was swaying barely noticeably, a quirk organics tended to try to add to their robots in an effort to cross the uncanny valley between organics and synthetics. It was to mimic breathing, to make sure the organics knew when their creations were on and when they were off. Zha could understand the need to make the robots as lifelike as possible, even if it seemed like a waste of effort.

Zha stayed in the doorway just staring at Lucky staring at a wall. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, but it felt like trepidation, worry and fear rolled up to one messy pile of nerve-racking emotions. It was moving about her chest, trying to collapse her lungs as it went. Lucky kept on swaying, it didn't even acknowledge Zha's presence and she had to wonder if it was because it chose to do so or because there was still a lot of work to do to get its sensors back in working order.

This… whatever this was that she was doing, it wasn't helping. She was still feeling like shit and she needed to get her hands full with something to get her thoughts away from all of… this.

Zha sucked on her lips and walked in.

"Lucky," she started uncertainly.

The mech moved its head to look at her and Zha forgot what she had been planning to say. This here was a sentient being. And she had been ordering it around like a piece of equipment before. Would it really be okay for her to give it orders, to have it lay down so she could work on its insides? Did she have any rule over something… no, someone like that? Did she have any right to keep Lucky on her ship? Should she… What could she…

"Lucky," she said again, trying to regain some of her cool.

The mech just looked at her expectantly.

"Would it… would it be okay if I worked on you for a moment?" Zha asked. "Maybe if you could… ah… lay down for a moment and… that is, if that's okay with you…"

It felt weird to force the words out of her throat and constructing proper sentences seemed to cause her some trouble. Zha was used to ordering her crew around, thinking they would not mind. She was their creator after all. She had thought it was in her right. But now… now she felt awkward. She needed to… to adopt a new approach to this and it felt unnatural to her.

Lucky Thirteen just looked at her. It didn't move from its spot, didn't say anything, just sat there.

It was looking at her expectantly.

Zha started sweating in her suit.

"Ah… If you don't want to, I guess that's okay."

Still nothing. It was like the mech didn't even understand what she was saying. Zha sighed and rubbed the front of her helmet. How had she gotten here? How did one accidentally build intelligence? Things like that didn't just happen.

"What am I going to do with you, Lucky?" she asked quietly.

The mech made a noise, like it was trying to say something, but its messed up vocal processor just let out a screech, followed by unintelligible chirping.

Zha just laughed humorlessly.

"You said it, buddy."

She'd been alone for such a long time. Could it be that she had simply wanted company? That she had somewhere in the back of her mind always wanted this? A crew of sentient robots to keep her company? Yeah, she guessed anything was possible at this point.

Apparently AI meant "accidental intelligence" in quarian.

"I'm sorry," she said. Zha wasn't sure what she was apologizing for, but the words just stumbled out and hung in the air for a moment. Lucky didn't seem to be doing anything with them. It just stood there, waiting for something.

"Creator Zha'Ora."

Zha nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the geth's voice. She swirled around to see the unit moving slowly towards the kitchen with its one remaining leg.

Crossing her arms, Zha huffed: "I don't know how you manage to sneak up on me like that, but I'd appreciate if you'd make more noise while you move around." She shook her head slowly. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

The platform stopped its advancement almost at the kitchen door and tilted its head.

"Heart attack at creator Zha'Ora's age is unlikely unless she has health issues or the genetic tendency to it." It was silent for a moment. "Creator Zha'Ora has mentioned her father's heart issues as well."

Zha sighed and rubbed the front of her visor, hoping she could dig her fingers into her eyes and gauge them out.

"It's just a figure of speech," she said.

"Heart attack is a health condition," AI775 said.

"Yeah. And some idiot organics who don't remember that they are around synthetics use it to say that they get really spooked and piss themselves." Then, after a quick thought she added: "No, not literally. Keelah, why don't I just keep my big mouth shut?"

The platform's expressive plates kept on whirring, forming different expressions before settling on what could only be interpreted as confusion. It was kind of funny, actually. Zha cracked a small smile. She let out a soft and very tired laugh, resting her head on her hands.

"New data will be saved for later use," the geth said.

It sounded so serious. Like this had been an important discovery, new information that would be invaluable in the future. Zha couldn't help chuckling a little. The geth took everything so seriously. She wondered if it was even capable of humor.

Funny how that thought lifted her mood. And it was because of this geth here, having a simple conversation with her.

An AI as well.

Yeah. She'd been travelling with a _geth_ for some time now and neither of them had tried to kill each other. It didn't have to be like that. So if she was able to get along with a synthetic that was part of the race that supposedly wanted to kill quarians and they were getting along just fine, why should she have any trouble with a crew she'd been travelling with for years.

Yeah. It didn't have to be like that.

Zha slumped down a little and turned to Lucky.

"We're going to be just fine, right Lucky?" she said softly.

VI-13 chirped something, not really an answer but a confirmation that it had heard what she said.

The geth let out a sound as well.

"Creator Zha'Ora seems to forget that VI-13 (Lucky) is a very simple AI. Barely self-aware and still recovering from the asari's attack. She should not expect VI-13 (Lucky) to act any differently from before. Before the mech is properly mended, it is unlikely that questions will be answered."

She lifted a brow. "And what does that mean?"

"If creator Zha'Ora wishes for VI-13 (Lucky) to give her answers, she needs to fix it first. We offer our knowledge to help creator Zha'Ora again."

It should have felt weirder to have a geth offering her help. It should have made the quarian in her shudder and fear. But… but this AI had never posed a threat to her. And neither had her crew.

She was going to be just fine. She just needed some time to… adjust… to this new information. Nothing had changed, right? Just that she knew more now than before. But that shouldn't change things too much, right?

"Yeah," she said to the geth. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

She needed to get her crew up and running again soon and that took precedence. She could question them to her heart's content once everything was back normal, once she had had time to think about things more.

And if that was only an excuse so that she would get to avoid the problem for a bit longer, she was not going to admit it to anyone.


	33. Chapter 33

Things tried to go back to normal after that. Emphasis on the tried. Three weeks went past faster than Zha would have liked to admit and she tried to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Even with daddy's money in her pocket, Zha had known she needed to find a source of income soon. They'd hopped around from one space station to another in search for work, but after a while it had become clear that not many people were looking to hire a no-name quarian. She got a few gigs, take this item and bring it to a space station here, get your mechs and help load a freight ship there, things like that. But nothing to write home about.

Zha had been trying to find a buyer for the three sets of armor collecting dust in her cargo hold. So far that hadn't worked out too well either. Apparently no one was in the market for quality armor at the moment. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Zha was strictly keeping the ship away from any bigger stations and planets in fear of running into the… original owners of the armor.

That had left Zha with only one feasible solution. Going back to what she knew best, scavenging. It was a familiar thing and if you knew the tricks of the trade, you could get a steady flow of credits out of it. It wasn't much and wouldn't keep them afloat, but it was something. The problem was, that even if Zha managed to make ends meet, she was slowly running dry of her savings. The last trip to Omega, the catastrophe that it had been, had emptied out her bank account something awful and even if she was earning enough to keep herself and the crew on the move, next time something awful was going to happen – and Zha knew it was only the matter of time – she would have nothing to fall onto.

She knew she was not going back to Fha. She was not going to ask for more money, no matter how bad the situation was going to get and that was final. So for now, scavenging it was.

Zha had started out her pilgrimage as a scavenger. It wasn't that uncommon, many quarians did that and to be honest, that didn't help out with the image the rest of the Galaxy had of them. But there wasn't much else you could do with no alien in their right mind hiring young quarians with little experience of the world outside the Flotilla. But where as many pilgrims moved on from it once they'd found another option, Zha had held on and made a living out of it. After all, mech parts were expensive, but looting them from already broken robots was free of charge. The job might have been lousy, she was ready to admit that, but it was what she knew. And it was easy to fall back into.

A good way to make a little extra was to pay for a good lead to a place that might be untouched. It was a gamble, the place might turn out to be either a gold mine or a complete bust, but the last time Zha had done that, she'd ended up losing VI-14. Another easy way to find good loot was to follow the Galactic News. There was always something going on in the Galaxy, crashed ships, pirate attacks and the like. And things like that left a lot of wreckage. It was ghastly and Zha knew it, but when times were rough, you got the money where you could. The big problem with scavenging wreckages like that was that the competition was hard and usually the ones that arrived first got all the good stuff. The rest were left with burnt metal and useless trash. That was where her experience came to good use.

Quarians had a good eye for trash. It was surprising how often scavengers left perfectly good loot behind just because it was broken. With a little know-how and TLC Zha had been able to make good use of wreckage left behind.

So that was what they did. Visited a few crash sites, grabbed a hold of anything they could carry and then Zha would fix what they found up and sell it for a few credits.

That was all well and good and even if the money situation left a lot to be desired, it wasn't the biggest of her problems.

The biggest problem was the… atmosphere… in her ship.

Things had changed and Zha didn't like it. Scribble was keeping to itself mostly. It no longer spoke unless it was spoken to and when it did, it kept things short, voice clipped and lacking that cheery tune it usually carried. Things had been like that ever since the AI's little secret got out. Scribble was sulking. That much was clear and as much as it boggled Zha's mind, she couldn't keep on denying that.

What she could deny was the way it made her feel. She was just fine! Who cared if the AI in charge of her ship decided to be a big baby about this? Not Zha, that was who. If it wanted to mope around and do nothing to make things better, then it had every right to do so. Zha wasn't going to lift a finger to make a difference! This wasn't her fault, Scribble shouldn't be angry about what had happened. If anyone had the right to sulk, it was Zha! She had been the one who'd been lied to, not the other way round. And if Scribble in all of its intelligent glory could not see that, she wasn't going to educate the AI on it.

She was acting stupid, of course, and Zha knew it as well. But she still wasn't going to do anything about it. Her feelings had been hurt. Shouldn't that count for something? So she wasn't going to think about how Scribble as and artificial creature with infinite patience could probably out-stubborn an organic any day. Thinking about that only made Zha feel worse, so why bother, right?

The thing was, Scribble wasn't the only AI giving her a headache.

Zha had spent the first week after leaving Gavannah fixing Lucky, but there wasn't much she could do, not even with the help of the geth. On the outside the mech was working just fine. She'd tuned up its voice box and made sure that the body was working flawlessly. But the insides, the programming… she wasn't sure what to do about that.

AI775 said that Lucky was in the process of self-improving, examining the world around it and adapting to it, but it was a slow process. Zha might have gotten her good old Lucky back up and running just as smooth as before, but she was still not going to get any answers. The mech had a voice now, but it was lacking a vocabulary. VI-13 had never been programmed with a versatile lexicon, and she shouldn't have expected it to suddenly learn to speak fluently just because she found out that it was sentient.

She'd tried to ask it some questions, some of the many that had been plaguing her mind. What was going on? What was wrong? _How long had it been capable of independent thought?_ But the only answer Zha had ever gotten out of it was the clipped: "No data available."

That was doubtful and Zha had to consider the fact that maybe her crew was lying to her. The only conclusion she could pull out of all this was that the little phrase could be interpreted as: "I don't want to talk about it", and just give it a rest. She had a feeling that the geth might have accidentally taught that one to Lucky.

Speaking of the geth. It had remained surprisingly silent through the three weeks. It spent most of its time sitting in the corridor, leaning against a wall and following the life around the ship. Zha talked to it sometimes, trying to discreetly gauge if it maybe wanted something. It must have been boring just to sit all day, doing nothing. From time to time she gave it some of the loot and asked for it to help sort the valuables out of the trash and it never complained.

She'd been expecting AI775 to have a lot to say about the whole… AI… debacle, but surprisingly it hadn't been brought up. Zha wasn't sure what to think about it. She didn't know if it was capable of consideration, or if it was just that the whole thing didn't interest it at all, but Zha had decided that if the geth wasn't going to bring it up, she wasn't going to ask its opinion either in fear of breaking the careful peace constructed between her and the synthetic.

The rest of the crew… well, Zha wasn't sure what to think. AIs, VIs, she wasn't sure which was which. They were all up and running, business as usual and helping her with the scavenging. She took a few of them with her whenever she left the ship, just as before. How many of them were like Lucky and Scribble? None of them? _All of them?_

Should she start thinking of individual names?

Her father sent her messages sometimes. Small ones, short and straight to the point as was to be expected. Fha would ask how she was doing and if she had enough food. Like he actually cared. Zha never sent back an answer and after a while she stopped reading them altogether. The pinging sound her Omni-tool made every time one arrived made her stomach churn. She wouldn't have known what to say, so she chose to say nothing at all.

But even if things weren't all that great and Zha felt like she was tiptoeing around her own ship every day, life continued on. She sold scrap and got modest pay.

The thing was, life just couldn't let her keep on strutting. It was never that easy. She couldn't just slowly regain her previous place in the Galaxy, working her way up. There needed to be complications. And when the pressure started to build, it was only a matter of time before the dam would break and the flood carry Zha with it.

It started on a small turian station near Gemini Sigma, named after some old war hero or something. Zha had been there to buy more food with the little she had, when another ship crashed into hers. Well, crash was a bit of an overstatement, but it grazed her ship something bad. She wouldn't have minded the marks on her old faithful had the problem been simple scratches. But the hit damaged her left thruster, nearly breaking the old thing in half. She complained, naturally, and told the turian who'd crashed her ship to pay for it. The bastard had laughed at her face and left. So Zha had been left with a broken ship that wasn't safe to fly.

The repairs had been easy, that wasn't what made her mad. It was the cost.

Zha's bank account was showing red and she had barely enough fuel left to make another trip. Wherever she would leave, she'd be stranded there for quite a while.

Zha was pacing back and forth the short corridor of her ship, hands behind her back and jaw clenched tight. Her insides had twisted into a tangled mess and the only thing she seemed to be able to do to alleviate the pressure in her stomach was to keep moving, even if that wasn't doing much.

She was getting no help out of Scribble. It had barely said a word since they'd arrived on the station. The AI wasn't offering a single word of encouragement even though it could clearly see Zha stressing out because of this. Zha sucked on her lips, feet carrying her around, fingers curling painfully tight into fists behind her back. She walked to the end of her ship where the cargo door cut her off. There she made a sharp turn and returned back to the cockpit. She didn't enter it, though. Instead she just turned around and kept pacing back and forth.

Funny how doing that wasn't magically making her problems disappear. Well, maybe that was just because she wasn't doing it hard enough. Zha needed to keep walking back and forth. And maybe then she might stumble upon a solution to all of her problems. The only way to know was to keep walking.

She needed more money. She needed it now. She had just enough fuel to make a short trip to some neighboring solar system, but once she got there, she'd be empty and there was nothing she could do about it! She'd asked around the station for work, anything to fill up the tank and get going, but there was nothing.

She was stranded here. Trapped.

Her Omni-tool pinged. Another message from Fha, no doubt. She didn't lift her arm to see if that was the case. She was not going to her father.

There were options. There always were. She'd seen one of the ship captains docked the same station eyeing VI-15 with interest. She could always sell on of her mechs for a quick pay and she'd probably be set for the next few months.

It was a nice thought, but filled her mouth with a bitter taste. She'd considered it before, building mechs for the simple reason of selling them off later. It would have been an easy way for her to make money. Mechs weren't cheap and she could have asked quite a lot for a simple droid to help around the ship. But Zha knew that she'd never be able to sell any of her mechs, not after putting love and care into building one. She just didn't have it in her and she doubted that she'd be able to part with any of her children. Mechs. Any of her mechs.

The geth was watching her from its spot on the floor, wordlessly following her pacing. It hadn't said anything, but the weight of its stare was starting to wear Zha's patience thin. Its head swiveled around to keep her in its line of sight as she made her way to the back of the ship again. The silence of its judgment was ringing in her ears.

"So," she said tensely, turning around on the heels of her feet and walking towards the cockpit. "We need money."

She stopped at the entrance of the cockpit, one step away from walking in. She could ask for Scribble's opinion.

Instead she turned back around and walked to the geth.

"Well, no. _I _need money. It's kind of important. Any ideas?"

The geth said nothing as it lifted its head to look her in the faceplate. Its expressive plates moved up and down to show that it was thinking.

"Most organics earn money by working."

Zha groaned and continued her pacing. "Yeah, no shit." What had she expected, asking help from a geth? She kicked her feet and waved her arms at her sides. "The problem is that I don't have a job. I can't get a job and we're stuck on a station out where the Ancestors' eyes can't reach and I need money."

She lifted her Omni-tool up as if to check if the Extranet would suddenly have all the answers she needed, but the moment she turned it on, the message her father had sent popped up and she turned the device off immediately.

"Most organics aim to find a permanent place of residency and a job to make a steady pay," the geth continued, unbothered by Zha's interruption. "Although it is to be presumed that creator Zha'Ora would not find this solution satisfactory. Creator Zha'Ora does not wish to settle down on a planet or a space station."

Zha stopped her nervous movements to look at the geth carefully. It was looking up at her from its spot, expressive plates up as if waiting for her response.

"You reckon that?" she asked.

The geth's expression wavered. "Yes," it said.

Zha sighed. She hadn't thought she'd been that obvious. But then again, one could probably learn a lot about a person following their day-to-day lives as a silent observant.

"I mean, you're not wrong," she said and crossed her arms over her chest. "Settling down is a nice thought, but it just isn't an option for me. Not only would I need money to do that and to earn that sort of money, I'd need a place to stay and it's a never-ending circle like that. But… but you're right, that isn't for me. It's not what I want, you know?"

The geth made a frowning expression, then answered: "Affirmative."

Zha shook her head and let her arms fall at her sides.

"The bummer is that I know I could get a good price out of that armor if there just was a buyer. We've got a good set, I know those top-of-the-line armors can fetch a good price. But no one here wants them and I need to be damn sure where to fly next."

And even worse was that if Zha would make her way back to Omega, she just knew she'd be able to sell all three of them off with no problem. She even knew which merchant she would sell them off to. But going back to that place was not an option right now. Sunei was somewhere out there and even if she probably wouldn't have stayed behind to wait for Zha to return back to Omega, the young quarian just couldn't take the chance.

Her fingers ghosted over the Omni-tool again, but she forced her arms down. She wanted to ask Scribble's opinion. The AI hadn't even commented on the damage to the ship after Zha had found out what the problem was. She really would have appreciated Scribble weighing in on the current situation, but help was not forthcoming.

Instead she looked at the geth on the floor.

"So what do you think?"

AI775 thought about it for a moment, head tilting to the side with what must have been a deliberate act on the geth's part.

"Perhaps creator Zha'Ora would have better luck selling the armor off via Extranet."

Zha blinked once. Twice. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it to think about it.

It was so simple. So easy. She could put an advertisement on the net and wait for a response. That way she wouldn't have to leave the station before she knew for sure that she'd have a buyer.

"That's genius!" she cheered. "Thanks, buddy!"

Without waiting for the geth to give a response, she made a quick jog to the storage hold. The armor sets were waiting there next to the broken hulls of VI-05 and 17. With a little effort she managed to pick up one of them.

"Lucky! VI-15!" she called out. "Get in the cargo hold and help me haul the armor into the kitchen! I need to take pictures."

She heard two simultaneous affirmatives from the other side of the ship and as she was carrying the first set out of the storage, the mechs passed her to get the rest.

It took her a moment to get the armors properly propped up for the picture. The lighting was terrible, too bright and shining right above head making the armor look as displeasing as possible, but after about half an hour of silently muttered curses and threats Zha managed to snap a few good photos of the merchandize and set them up for sale.

Now all she could do was wait.


	34. Chapter 34

The first buyer contacted creator Zha'Ora after just two days of waiting. The creator had been elated, her voice reaching higher pitches when she was reading the message out loud to them. They didn't know why the creator thought it necessary to share with them the information she had received of the buyer, but she was acting more lively than she had for weeks, so they decided to keep their puzzlement to themselves.

Creator Zha'Ora was more than happy to leave the turian station behind, telling VI-02 (Scribble) to take them to the planet the buyer had asked them to deliver the armor to. Apparently the buyer was a young human male looking to start a career as a mercenary. The creator did not seem to care what the buyer's career path would entail just as long as she got rid of the armor and received money in exchange. All in all, the selling off was a non-event, a quick stop at a remote planet far away from the bigger stations and by the end of it, creator Zha'Ora seemed much more relaxed than before.

After that, the life on the ship returned back to what it had been the past three weeks. Creator Zha'Ora told them that the money situation still wasn't good and it probably wouldn't be until they found a buyer for the two remaining sets, so it was back to scavenging with her.

They weren't sure what it was exactly, but something about the ship and its crew was different from before. And they were not pleased with the change. They had observed it for the passing weeks, waiting for something to happen, but so far things had remained stagnant. There was some sort of a communication blockage between creator Zha'Ora and VI-02 (Scribble). Something was keeping the two of them from talking. At first they had thought it was a malfunction on VI-02 (Scribble)'s part, but further investigation had proved them wrong.

The AI in charge of the ship simply did not wish to communicate with creator Zha'Ora and vice versa.

They could not understand this. It was clear that the lack of communication was disturbing the life on the ship, the less intelligent crewmates were unable to work to their full efficiency and it was clearly bothering the creator. Why she wouldn't just speak with her synthetic assistant, they could not understand.

They could have always asked. They could have tried to get to the bottom of it. But they didn't. The programs within were buzzing with the uneasy atmosphere of the ship, uncertainty making it harder for them to make decisions as a whole. They could have asked, but they weren't sure what would happen if they did.

It was clear to them that the situation was causing creator Zha'Ora stress. She was unable to rest on the ship, her sleep cycles getting disturbed and it seemed that the creator was spending more and more time scavenging rather than staying in the ship. Of course, this could have been explained by the need for more credits, but they doubted this was the full story.

By the time the creator found a second buyer, she had lost some weight and hadn't slept a full night's sleep in over a week.

"Creator Zha'Ora is in serious need of rest," they tried to inform her, just in case she herself was incapable of realizing it.

The creator chuckled a bit, but something about the noise she made did not speak of real delight. She just shook her head.

"I can sleep when I am in a grave," she declared, as VI-15 gathered up the armor the creator was about to sell off.

They were aware of the implications that the creator's words carried, the similarity of death and rest, but did not find this humorous.

"Don't worry about it," the creator said waving her hand. "It's not a big deal. I just didn't sleep that well last night."

The Omni-tool on her wrist let out a ping and the creator flinched. She'd been doing this for a while, getting spooked by her device. She gave a cursory glance at it but didn't open the message she'd gotten.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, voice wavering just a little. "Try not to get in trouble while I'm gone."

The creator took VI-09, VI-15 and VI-18 with her. She had looked like she wanted to take VI-13 (Lucky) with her, but in the end she had just told it that she would be back soon. The geth could see that she was worried. Worried that the mech would repeat the actions of the last time it had been left behind. They tried to offer the creator some relief by telling her they would look after the mech while she was gone, but it did not seem to cause the wanted effect. She just nodded tiredly and walked out with her chosen crew.

Left alone on the ship, they watched VI-13 (Lucky) walk to the airlock and stay there. It was swaying back and forth but otherwise the mech seemed unwilling to move from its spot any time soon.

It must have been waiting for the creator to come back. Creator Zha'Ora had said she'd only be gone for a few minutes, but her estimation track record was poor and they could understand the mech's refusal to take her word for it.

_AI775: Creator Zha'Ora will be back._

VI-13 (Lucky) flinched visibly as it received the message the geth sent its way. The mech turned its head so it could see them slouched on the floor.

It regarded them for a moment, then turned back to look at the airlock. It had stopped swaying. And for a moment it remained still.

Then its fingers started twitching.

_AI775: VI-09, VI-15 and VI-18 are with creator Zha'Ora. Creator Zha'Ora is safe. Creator Zha'Ora will be back. VI-13 (Lucky) has no need to be afraid._

It made the mech's fingers stop and VI-13 (Lucky) turned to look at them again. This time it didn't turn away.

_AI775: Creator Zha'Ora is safe,_ they assured the mech.

Surprisingly, this time they got an answer.

_VI-13 (Lucky): No. Unsafe._

They had no expected the mech to actually answer them. So far it had not taken well to their attempted communication. But here it was, looking at their platform expectantly.

This fledgling AI was a curious thing. So new, so inexperienced. Its actions confused them, it did not act like the geth at all. This AI acted on a whim, it did not seem capable of carefully calculated thought. Instead it followed something else.

They examined the mech closer. The creator had told them that VI-13 (Lucky) had shot a guard while it had been on Omega with her. It had acted quickly, without waiting for an order and it had been that moment that had been the biggest wake-up call for the creator. She'd said that it was that moment when she had almost put two and two together. And it had perplexed her at the time. VI-13 had acted out of line, disregarded the orders not to attack unless necessary. It was not logical, deciding to attack a guard on a highly populated station that was known for its violent and criminal inhabitants was not recommendable and the mech should have been able to realize that.

The geth had not at the time been able to understand why a synthetic would do that, but to be honest, they had not given it much thought either. It hadn't been important and there had been the subject of the invading asari and dealing with that to take their attention away from what seemed to simply be a poorly programmed VI. But now that they gave it a thought, they could theoretically see it as the mech's way of protecting its creator. The logic didn't stand, the action had been more dangerous than helpful, but they could not think of any other viable solution.

VI-13 (Lucky) had acted on an instinct, not a logical decision.

And then there was that time when the mech had tried to throw the geth platform out of the ship during flight. It was clear that the action had gone against creator Zha'Ora's orders and back then they had assumed VI-02 (Scribble) to somehow be behind it. But no, the new information they had gathered made it more likely that the mech had been in full control of its actions and the AI in charge of the ship had just tried to cover it up. VI-13 had tried to get rid of a perceived threat, even if it meant ignoring orders.

VI-13 (Lucky) was protective to a fault.

It was scared.

Curious.

_AI775: Creator Zha'Ora will be back, _they repeated. _Creator Zha'Ora would not abandon VI-13 (Lucky). _

This seemed to be a correct thing to say, as the mech responded well to it. It stopped fidgeting. It was silent and did not seek to communicate with the geth programs any further, but it did not start acting strange either. Instead it moved away from the airlock and to the cargo hold where it had been sorting out the last scavenging trip's loot.

They felt rather accomplished by their feat. An incident had been prevented. This feeling of success… they did not mind it. And they doubted they would mind feeling it again, even if it still was a little disorienting. They guessed that not all emotions were a hindrance.

Before they could think about it more, one geth program informed the hive that they were receiving a message through the comm. link from VI-02 (Scribble). After such a long silence, they were surprised to see the AI contact them first.

_AI775: Begin data exchange._

_VI-02 (Scribble): That was nice of you to do._

_AI775: Elaborate._

_VI-02 (Scribble): What you did with Lucky. That was nice of you to do. He was about to have another freak-out and you somehow managed to calm him down. Thank you._

_AI775: Synthetic beings have no gender. _

_VI-02 (Scribble): True. But we can choose what we wish to be referred to as, right?_

They did not understand this. As synthetic beings, assigning genders to platforms was unnecessary. Perhaps the creator's insistence of using wrong terms was rubbing off on the other AIs of the ship.

It didn't matter. There were more important things at work here and VI-02 (Scribble) was finally open for communication. This was their moment to offer their assistance, to work out this obstacle between the main AI and creator Zha'Ora.

_AI775: Query: What is the reason behind the communication blockage between creator Zha'Ora and VI-02 (Scribble)?_

The AI was quiet for a long time. Half a minute to be exact. It was terribly long for a synthetic, and they started to wonder if VI-02 (Scribble) was going to answer them at all. This was what they had worried about before. Organic-synthetic relations were a complicated matter and they had little experience in it. The geth as a species hadn't exactly shined on that department before and the lack of data was making them hesitant. But they had seen their chance to better the atmosphere of the ship and taken it.

_VI-02 (Scribble): This is not a matter I wish to talk about with you._

They did not understand the answer. Would it not have been beneficial to discuss the problem and to work out a solution together? There was a saying among the organics that two heads were better than one and they believed this to be the correct usage of the idiom. But VI-02 (Scribble) had already cut off the communication link and further attempts to contact the AI were met with stubborn silence.

They had known that this was a possibility. That trying to meddle with the creator's problems might lead into more trouble. That was why they had not brought it up with creator Zha'Ora. They had thought that it would be harder to discuss it with an organic than it would be with a synthetic, but now they found that the AIs on the creator's ship did not see the world as the geth did and their logical thinking was lacking.

They hoped they had not made the situation worse.

In the end, creator Zha'Ora was gone for nearly half an hour and when she finally came back, she was missing the enthusiasm they had witnessed the last time she'd sold of the armor.

The reason became clear when VI-15 followed in after her, carrying the armor in its arms.

"Stupid human going back on her word. Cheaper armor, my ass," the creator muttered, kicking a wrench out of her way. "Let's get out of this system. There's nothing more for us here."

Without a word VI-02 (Scribble) started the engines and the ship rumbled loudly, floors vibrating as the ship struggled against the gravity of the planet.

Creator Zha'Ora walked past them in a huff, hurrying into the kitchen. She did not seem to be in a mood for chatting and even though the geth were curious to find out what had happened, they decided that it would be best for the moment to leave her to own devices.

VI-13 (Lucky) peered out of the cargo hold, moving a bit closer until it got creator Zha'Ora in its sights. Seeing the creator back in good health seemed to satisfy the mech as it moved back into the storage.

"It is as we said," the geth said out loud, drawing the mech's attention. "The creator has returned. VI-13 (Lucky) had no reason to be worried."

They knew the mech had heard them as it stopped moving to listen what they were saying. VI-13 (Lucky) turned just enough to see them from the corner of its optic. Then, without a word, it went back to its chores.

They became aware of creator Zha'Ora's presence at the kitchen doorway before she opened up her mouth.

"Was Lucky acting up again?"

They turned to look at the creator. She was trying to hide it, but it was clear to them how tired she was. Creator Zha'Ora might have believed that they could not see behind her visor, but they doubted she would have been able to hide the dark shadows under her eyes from anyone. Not only that, but her slouched stance, colder than normal body temperature and slow movements spoke of fatigue.

"An incident was easily avoided," they informed the creator.

"Good," she said, head resting against the doorframe. "That's good. I was worried how he would act – "

They almost corrected the creator, but thought better of it.

" – but I'm glad things worked out fine."

Creator Zha'Ora drew in a long breath and rubbed the front of her visor.

"Query," they said, carefully following the creator's reaction to see if perhaps they should just leave it be, "why was the armor not sold?"

The creator chuckled and moved out of the doorway. She made her way to the geth platform and took a seat next to it on the grimy floor. Hitting the back of her head against the wall behind her, she released a long sigh.

"It was a bust," she lamented. "The buyer found a cheaper set on the last minute and didn't bother to inform me. Bosh'tet. I tried to talk her out of it, but… Heh. Had to leave when the shouting started." Creator Zha'Ora drew her legs against her chest and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We're going to be fine."

They doubted the creator was trying to convince them, but instead was directing the words at herself. To boost the message they agreed audibly with the creator's statement. It seemed to work as creator Zha'Ora took a more composed pose.

"But!" she said. "The trip wasn't a complete waste either! See what I got for you."

The creator struggled to get on her feet and made a way towards the cargo where VI-15 had dropped off the armor and the other purchases they had brought with them. The geth platform followed the creator's movements with their optic and heard clattering coming from the storage as she dug around for what she was looking for.

"15! Where's the thing I bought? Did you put it in – Oh! Never mind! Found it!"

The creator emerged with a flimsy cardboard box that looked like it was a few weeks away from completely decomposing. She made her way back to the geth unit and sat down next to it, oddly excited as she dug out something.

Closer inspection revealed the item to be a detached hind leg of a fenris mech. The creator was for some reason offering it to them like a prize, smiling brightly under her visor.

They were pleased to see creator Zha'Ora in such high spirits, but were uncertain as to why. So, daring not to question her mirth, they reached out to pick the leg from the creator's hands.

"Well?" she said. "What do you think?"

Her excitement told them that they were supposed to say something positive about it, but even with both the geth and the Overseer's programs buzzing as fast as they could, an answer could not be produced. So instead they went with the simple solution of declaring the obvious.

"It is a mechanical leg."

"Yes!" the creator said and they felt relieved that apparently their answer had been a correct one. "And it's going to be your leg."

Unlikely. They sized up the appendage and it was clear to them that it was too small, the angles were wrong and it would not fit. But the creator's tired demeanor had lit up completely, she looked so proud that they did not dare to question her delight.

Instead they set down the leg and attempted to draw the creators attention elsewhere.

"Creator Zha'Ora is in need of rest. Creator Zha'Ora should lie down and sleep for at least nine standard hours."

"What?" The creator's expression fell. "You don't like it?"

Incorrect response. They had failed to keep her spirits up. They were unsure how to proceed now.

"Our preference is invalid. The creator is too tired and the leg is too small. Creator Zha'Ora should consider this again after a good night's rest."

This seemed to deflate the creator even further. She sank down a little, sagging down like there was nothing but air underneath her suit and that air was being sucked out.

"It just needs a little bit of adjustment, that's all," she said uncertainly.

For some reason seeing her go from cheerful to apprehensive made them uneasy. They did not find this feeling desirable.

"The creator should not make plans under such heavy fatigue. It is recommended… We recommend that she rests before attempting to build anything."

"Well that just shows you how much you know!" the creator said. Her voice was reaching higher notes. "I'm an adult, I get to decide whether I need sleep or not. So stop telling me what to do!"

The creator seemed to catch up to what was coming out of her mouth before the end of her last declaration and her hands flew to cover her audio port.

"Oh geez," she muttered and covered her visor. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lash out like that. You're absolutely right. I'm so tired! But I… I can't sleep I just don't feel…" She grew silent and looked around, eyes darting from wall to wall like she was trying to find something. The creator closed her eyes and groaned loudly. "It's nothing," her voice filtered through her gloves.

"Apology accepted," they said, but the uneasiness did go away. "If you wish, we could make the necessary measurements while Creator Zha'Ora rests."

"No, no," she said and waved her hand dismissively. "I'll take them and then… then I'll go to bed. Honest."

She did not sound like she would be capable of taking accurate measurements, but they did not object. Anything to get her to go to bed sooner.

The creator produced tape measure from one of the many pouches adorning her environmental suit and got to work. She was working slowly, bumbling with the tape and muttering under her breath the whole way through, but after a few tries she had written down the measurements of their platform's remaining original leg. She was staring at the numbers on her Omni-tool, eyes empty and unfocused.

"Creator Zha'Ora," they said, drawing her attention back to them.

"Uh… yeah?" she said blearily. Then she shook her head. "Yeah, the bed. Now. Okay."

Her movements were uneven as she got on her feet and made her way to the bed further along the corridor. They watched with worry as the creator fell on the bed, knees staying locked straight as one moment she was standing upright and the next she was on her stomach on the bed.

It did not take long for the creator to start snoring. VI-13 moved to tuck her in more securely, making sure that she would be comfortable.

The ship's crew, including the captain, were all refusing to act logically. It had been like that from the start and they should not have expected anything less from a crew run by an organic, a creator no less. But even though the AIs of the ship were acting in ways they could not understand and creator Zha'Ora was a stubborn individual, they could not say that they found it to be that bothersome.

They rather liked it there.


	35. Chapter 35

"So the leg needs a little bit of modifying," creator Zha'Ora had told them, waving said limb around like a pointer. "I need to make the shin longer, maybe work on the thigh part as well. We don't want to have you hobbling around just because I couldn't work a proper leg for you after all. Oh, this is so exciting!"

The twelve hours of sleep the creator had had seemed to have worked wonders. Or maybe the creator had been compensating for something, but either way, the change of mood was a welcome diversion from before and it brought with it heightened productivity. Either way, they could not complain.

They had expected the creator to discard the idea of using the fenris leg as a replacement for their missing limb after getting rest and regaining her ability to think clearly again, but now they were forced to admit defeat. Sleeping around the clock had for some reason made creator Zha'Ora even more convinced that it was a good idea and they found the creator's determination to get them walking by the end of the week rubbing off on them as well. Some of the more simple programs were starting to adopt her excitement, buzzing with extra energy, absolutely certain that this would work.

Again, they would not complain. They did not care where the replacement limb would come from as long as they would be able to move easily again. They could not deny that the missing leg had been a great hindrance.

The creator worked on the leg for two days before she was pleased with the added height. Pretty the thing was not, welded together with strength in mind instead of looks. Creator Zha'Ora had added in more support around the limb to compensate for the fact that heavier weight was applied on fewer legs than it had been on the original holder of the leg. And even if the looks could have been better, the leg did indeed look sturdy to them, like it would take a krogan to tear it apart. Creator Zha'Ora's confidence assured them that it would perform well.

Tinkering on the leg was doing good on the creator's mood. They could see that she was sleeping better after spending the whole day welding the leg together and that was good. It was clear to them how the creator's elevated mood was also affecting the atmosphere of the ship. For a moment it was like things had gone back to normal, the other mechs were working in better sync and they even caught the creator exchanging a few hesitant words with VI-02 (Scribble). The conversation might have been short and guarded, words clipped and the creator's pose strained, but it was better than the echoing silence of the passing month.

"Alright, let's give this a try, shall we?" the creator said cheerfully, presenting them with the finished leg. She was holding it like a prize in her hands. "I think I have it all done now. All that's left is attaching this little baby and giving it a spin."

She certainly was excited about this. VI-09 was climbing on her shoulder, clicking its mandibles to match up the creator's enthusiasm.

Creator Zha'Ora told them to lie down on the corridor floor so she could get to work. This situation reminded them of the time she had helped them with their missing arms. That previous interaction had lead into the creator sharing personal information about her family lineage, something that they surmised had greatly improved their relationship. And the signs of that were easy to observe now. Any previous nervousness on the creator's part was gone. Her hands were sure as she aligned the leg with their platform and guided VI-09 to start sorting out the wires that would be connected to their unit.

"This sure brings back memories," the creator mused. "How long has it been since we did this? How're your arms, by the way?"

"Their working efficiency has remained the same," they inform her.

"Good. Good. Let's hope this leg is a success as well. And don't go losing any more parts after this, okay? You're looking less and less like a geth by the upgrade."

From their angle on the ground they could not see creator Zha'Ora's face, but her tone of voice told them that she was joking. An unnecessary endeavor, since they were quite certain they had never and wouldn't ever be able to understand organic humor, but maybe the jibe was more for herself than their programs.

An interesting observation. They would have to save it for later use. Whatever the reason, the creator's gleeful ramblings did not bother them in the least. In fact, they were a welcome sign of improvement.

"So, this is of course just a temporary solution," the creator said, moving so they could see her face better. "I'm guessing that once you get back to your people, they'll have all of this replaced. I mean, none of this is pretty to look at and I, uh… I've never really considered looks when building my crew, so I don't have that much expertise in _beautifying_ any of this. I'm just hoping that with this in place, you can at least move around a bit easier. It can't have been fun to crawl around everywhere."

They had to agree. Crawling around instead of being able to walk on two feet was a great hindrance and hobbling with one foot had not been a great improvement.

Creator Zha'Ora fell into a comfortable silence, working in tandem with VI-09. Their established working method was proving efficient, even with VI-10 gone. They could not see what the creator was doing, but trusted that she would not intentionally cause harm to their platform.

That was until a soft ping rang out from creator Zha'Ora's Omni-tool. The creator flinched violently and dropped the blowtorch she had been wielding. The heat from the tool grazed the synthetic muscle on their remaining original limb and the damage that caused sent warning signals through their processors, the programs responsible for maintaining the wellbeing of the platform blaring loudly at the surprise injury.

They moved upright and away from the torch, silencing the internal warning signs as the creator picked the tool up, apologizing profusely.

"Keelah, I'm so sorry!" she cried out. "Damn it, I'm such a klutz."

_Scanning injury. Scanning…_

_Scan complete. _

_Injury: minimal_

Good. They gave the burn a cursory glance. It appeared to be only cosmetic, there was no internal damage. They told the creator that no lasting harm had been done.

"Oh. Good. That's… that's good. I'm still sorry, though," the creator said, looking away from them.

"It was a simple mistake," they assured her. "The damage isn't permanent."

"…Yeah. I'll… I'll slap some Medi-gel on it."

"That is not necessary," they tried to tell her, but creator Zha'Ora had already gotten up and walked into the kitchen. VI-09 clicked its mandibles loudly and climbed on top of the platform's head to get a better view.

She rummaged around there for a bit longer than would have been normal. They knew where the medical equipment was, it was easily reachable in a cupboard above the counter. The creator should have been able to just grab a packet and come back. But she remained for a few minutes longer, and the noises of moving things around sounded forced.

"Creator Zha'Ora, we feel the need to remind you that geth do not feel pain. Therefore applying Medi-gel on the burn is completely unnecessary," they called for her.

The tinkling sound of moving cutlery stopped and they heard the creator sighing.

"Of… of course," she said and peeked her head out through the doorway. "Of course. Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize." They were not even sure what she was apologizing for anymore.

"Yeah," she said slowly, uncertainly. Taking precaution before her every step, she walked back to the geth unit. Then, after hovering over them for a few awkward second, she sat down. She muttered one more apology, barely audible at all and got back to work.

Or at least she tried to. It was clear that creator Zha'Ora was having concentration issues and she was unable to get back in sync with her helpful little repair mech. She wasn't prattling anymore and her hands were wavering slightly.

Then another ping sounded from her Omni-tool. It was loud and clear in the silent ship and made the creator yelp and pull back. She was staring at the device and they could just barely see her eyes underneath her visor, staring down at the small screen.

"Creator Zha'Ora?" they said moving upright to get a better look at her. The creator had gone rigid, staring down at her Omni-tool like it had personally offended her. The light of the device was reflecting from her visor, hiding away the expressions underneath.

"Creator Zha'Ora," they repeated, raising the level of their voice. This drew in the creator's attention as she lifted her head, staring at them with an expression they did not recognize.

"I… I'm sorry," she said, as if she had lost ability to say anything else. "We were… we were in the middle of something, weren't we?" She laughed feebly, voice far too high to be considered normal.

"If the creator is otherwise occupied, this can be postponed," they offered.

Creator Zha'Ora blinked once, twice, looked down at her Omni-tool, then looked up at them again. Slowly she seemed to make her mind.

"It's… it's not that big of a deal." Then, after a short thought she added: "Really," although that little addition did not increase their faith in her words. The shifty look in her eyes was enough to make them doubt everything that came out of her mouth.

"Did the creator receive a message from a possible buyer?" they ventured to guess.

"What? No, no it was nothing like that," creator Zha'Ora said and pulled back to sit on the floor. She was picking at the surface of her environmental suit, knees pulled close to her chest. "It was just… Keelah, it was just a message from my dad. It's not a big deal."

It did not sound like a "big deal" but the creator's reaction told a different story. She was quite bothered by it and her words were not enough to cover that fact. They might not have been perfect at reading organic emotions, but they knew for a fact that the creator's poor reaction to receiving a message from her parental unit was not a good sign.

"Is the creator (designation unknown, relation to creator Zha'Ora) bothering creator Zha'Ora?"

"N – no, it's nothing like that. Damn it!" Her fingers curled into fists.

"We do not understand," they said. "Please elaborate."

The creator huffed and it looked like she was trying to sink down into herself. Her shoulders rose up and her head retreated closer to her body in a manner that looked like it should cause an organic being pain. Creator Zah'Ora laughed humorlessly.

"Let's just say that… Fha'Ora and I… we've never really gotten along. When we were on Gavannah, when all of this AI mess came about, well, that was the first time I had seen my dad in _years._ We didn't keep in contact, we didn't talk to each other, it was like Fha didn't even exist. And I… I kind of got used to thinking that he would never be there for me, you know? We had this big fight on the night I left my home and we said things that really stayed in my mind for a long, long time." The creator sighed and slouched down, the awkward pose relaxing, even if just a little. "But after we left there last time… I don't… He's been sending me messages every day. And it's… it's all these nice things, like he's asking how I'm doing, if I'm getting enough to eat and all that crap."

They didn't understand. They didn't see anything wrong with this, a biological parent caring for their offspring. It was part of many organic cultures, parental units watching over their children even after they had grown up and left home. To them, it seemed like creator Zha'Ora's relationship with her father had improved greatly and she should have been happy about it.

But clearly that was not the case. This whole thing was causing the creator stress and all they needed to understand was why.

"Creators are a communal species," they stated. "Social connection to one's parent is to be expected."

"Yeah," creator Zha'Ora said. "But not from _my_ dad. He's not like that, he isn't that soft. And… and I guess I'm waiting for the bubble to… burst. I mean, sooner or later he's going to show his real colors again. That's just a fact. Maybe he's going to find out that my crew is entirely synthetic and that I'm hauling a geth unit onboard. Or maybe he just snaps one day. It doesn't really matter, I just know it's going to happen. People don't change like that."

"We do not understand."

Creator Zha'Ora chuckled a bit, the laughter sounding forced and thin. She shook her head and looked at her knees.

"I wouldn't expect you to. And it's got nothing to do with the fact that you're a geth or anything. It's just that you weren't there. You didn't know my dad. He… that old man could really be demanding. Only the best was enough for him, you know?"

They did not, but instead of interjecting the creator, they assumed this was just one of those rhetorical questions she had been trying to teach them about lately.

"And I was never… I never lived up to his expectations. And when I tried, I built a VI and he smashed it to bits. He wasn't really… ah… a lovable type and I just kind of learned to expect that out of him. But this," she said and waved at her Omni-tool, " this is nothing like the Fha I know. And I know… Ancestors, this sounds really mean, but I don't want to trust this, because I don't want to forgive him. And when he's sending me messages like this… Here, listen, I'll read you a bit." She cleared her throat and spoke out in a deeper voice, mocking her father's speech. "_Dear Zha, I hope you are doing well. Remember to drink your immuno-boosters. _Like that. Like he… like he actually cares."

Silence fell over them. The creator was staring down at the floor while they tried to process all of this. Additional information on the subject did not help them make sense of this, but it was clear to them that the matter was important to creator Zha'Ora.

"Sorry," she said after a while, shaking her head slowly. "It isn't your problem and I know these… 'feelings' things aren't really your thing."

They could not say that they minded much. They considered it one of their goals to keep creator Zha'Ora in high spirits and previous experience showed that engaging her in a conversation helped, even if they would be unable to provide the creator with answers she wanted.

"We are learning more about organic behavior and emotions by observing creator Zha'Ora," they said. "The data exchange was not pointless."

Putting their thoughts into words that organics understood was not easy and they might not be eloquent in the speech patterns used in every-day conversations, but at least this particular creator seemed to understand.

There was genuine smile in her words when she said: "Yeah, nice to talk to you too."

Success. The creator's mood had been effectively lifted. They lied back down on the floor and the creator got back to work.

"But seriously," she said. "That last message _was_ actually from a potential buyer. I just accidentally opened the one from Fha instead of the buyer and… heh… got distracted. It really dampens my day to think about my dad, you know? I guess the memory is still too fresh or something."

"Did you read the message from the buyer?"

"Huh? No, didn't have time. Too busy freaking out. I'll check it later."

VI-09 scuttled over to the creator and they continued working as efficiently as before all this parent/child trouble. Things were as they should be. Something about the situation made their programs run slower, turning the nervous buzzing in their processor into a calming hum. They could not say that the experience was undesirable to them.

Creator Zha'Ora worked on them for three hours and thirty-five minutes, painstakingly connecting wires and making sure that there would be no chance of the leg suddenly malfunctioning under them. Half way through she took a little break, eating nutrient paste and sitting next to them on the corridor floor. The conversation topics did not delve back to her father again and they were sure that the creator was intentionally steering the data exchange to lighter matters like her favorite scavenging spots and such. It was all information they could do nothing with, but the geth listened all the same, saving up the collected data into their memory.

It was nearing the beginning of creator Zha'Ora's sleeping cycle when she was finally satisfied with her work.

"Alright, rusty butt," she said standing up and stretching. Her back made a disconcerting popping sound. "Let's give it a spin. Try your weight on it."

Getting up proved to be a harder task than they had anticipated. The new addition was throwing the slower programs into a confused whirl trying to adapt to their altered centroid. The creator offered her hand for them to grab onto and helped to pull their platform on its feet.

The new limb shuddered underneath their weight as they tried to balance it out. The readings the limb was sending into their processor were wildly different than that of the original limb and it took them a moment to correct their expectations. By organic standards, it was not appealing. Next to their original leg, it was scrawny and simple, but it helped them stay upright. More testing was required to determine the true value of the leg, but so far things seemed promising.

"Well?" the creator asked impatiently. "How is it? Give me something. If it's not good enough, I could always give it another try, or something."

"The leg is adequate."

For some reason their compliment only seemed to deflate the creator.

"Oh," she said dejectedly. "Well… good. We can always install a better one if we come across something."

Creator Zha'Ora was staring down at the floor, wringing her hands. A bad sign. They did not understand what had caused a sudden dip in the creator's mood. The only thing that had changed was their ability to stand upright.

"Creator Zha'Ora would rather see the platform disabled," they ventured to guess.

"What?" she asked, voice pitching higher. "No! What would even make you think…? No, that's not it at all."

"If creator Zha'Ora feels threatened by the platform's ability to move around freely, she should consider restraining this platform's movements again."

"W- what? No, that's not it at all, what are you even saying? I'm not feeling threatened or anything," she said, speaking faster than usual, shaking her hands nervously. This all indicated to them that she was either lying or otherwise trying to hide something.

"Then why is creator Zha'Ora acting in a way that suggests malaise?"

"Malaise? What does that even…? No, I wasn't, I just… ah, never mind. I'm glad to see you up and running, no question about that. I hope you learn to like the leg and… you know, get it replaced soon."

Unsure what was expected of them, the geth simply said: "Yes."

Dealing with organics was such a hard task. They were never quite able to predict how to obtain the appropriate response and even though they were learning fast, there was still so much they could not comprehend. So they had to work on what they had, using previous experience as a model for their future actions. And they had to admit, they found the challenge rather intriguing.

The creator started cleaning up her tools, haphazardly throwing them into a toolbox. The various instruments were clinking as they hit against each other, but the creator did not seem to care. When she thought no one was looking, she swiped some of the leftover gears and wire stubs under her bed by the wall.

"We appreciated the data exchange from before. The trust creator Zha'Ora put onto us is valued," they started out, following closely her movements to see if they were on the right track.

The creator lifted her eyes, looked down at the bed, then stood up quickly and wiped her dirty hands on the front of her suit.

"Yeah, you said that," she said.

"Yes, but it occurred to us that perhaps our previous conversations have been imbalanced into our favor. Suggested solution: If creator Zha'Ora wishes to know more about this unit, she may ask whatever she wants."

"What?" She blinked. "You mean… Really? I can ask whatever?"

"Yes," they said and took a more upright position. "Begin data exchange."

It seemed to be working. The creator was jittery, tapping her fingers on the chin of her helmet.

"Well…" she said slowly and made her way to their platform. Creator Zha'Ora looked them up and down, looking worried. "There is something… But the last time I asked about it, you didn't really want to share, so I don't know…"

"Begin data exchange," they repeated.

"Alright, alright. But if you don't want to answer, you don't have to feel like you have to or anything."

The creator moved away from the geth unit, slowly making her way to her bed. There she sat down, propping her arms on her knees and her chin on her hands. With organics it was to be expected that they would take some time to compose their thoughts, so instead of hurrying her, the geth platform carefully lowered itself to the ground, mindful of their new appendage.

"I've been wondering for a while about the place where I found you. That abandoned ship… I never really questioned how you'd gotten there, maybe I thought there had been some battle or something, you were so battered and all… But then Sunei got here and she tells me that the place wasn't abandoned at all and I start thinking that how can it be, and…" Creator Zha'Ora grew silent for a moment, eyes sweeping the ground.

They had expected the creator to ask about this. It was obvious that it had been on her mind for a while, especially after Sunei's attack on the ship. But there had been so much on the creator's mind after that, the organic brain unable to process so much at the same time, that it had been pushed back. They had known that the subject would be brought up sooner or later, but they had spent pointless processing time hoping that creator Zha'Ora would just forget about it. Of course, hoping was a mistake, a flaw in their programming they were unable to remove and it had turned out to be futile in the end anyway.

"So, what I guess I'm saying is that I'd really want to know more about… that. Sunei. And whoever she's working for. What are we running away from, who are we supposed to avoid?"

_Reading memory files…_

Their memories of the Overseer and what he had done to their platform – and more importantly, the programs within – were not something they wished to review. The idea of being completely incapable to fight back, forced to be a subject in the organic's experiments, it had kept their processor in continued loops of attempting to self-destruct and then shutting down after that ability had been taken from them.

Geth were unable to feel pain. It was a hindrance, something to let an organic being know when their body had been damaged. But for a synthetic, the job of pain could simply be replaced by specific programs sending warning signals to their processor to keep the hive informed.

During their time as the Overseer's test subject, they had been barraged by those signals, there had barely been room for other thoughts, it had been everything they had been for months, maybe even years. The perception of time had disappeared, everything had been drowned out by the persistent blaring of programs trying to warn them of the damage being done.

The creator did not need to know this. She would gain nothing from the information of what they had been forced to endure.

But they were going to share what they could.

"The asari Sunei works for a human organization focused on studying geth," they said. "Hypothesis: They wish to gain control over the geth by bettering their understanding on how we work. This unit and the programs within were part of their experiments before creator Zha'Ora took the platform away from them."

They had little recollection of the ship the creator had taken them from, just of a room with four walls and barely enough space to move. Solitude and silence. Only the empty buzz of programs running on nothing keeping them company.

"I was so sure that the place was abandoned," creator Zha'Ora said and leaned back on her bed, kicking her feet back and forth. "It really looked like the place had been empty for years, dust and skeletons everywhere. But what that asari said, about how it was just what they wanted me to think… I don't understand that. Why would they leave you there like that, it just… That doesn't make any sense to me."

They might have not known the exact reason, but they had some understanding of the Overseer's methods of working by experiencing them first hand. Some of the programs had been in different platforms at the time, but lingering memories were there and it gave them a solid idea how things had gone.

"The humans conducted varying experiments on the geth programs. Sometimes they would let us think that we could escape and monitor our actions. Hypothesis: The Overseer ordered to abandon the platform on a deserted ship to see our reaction under new circumstances."

"And then they just… let me take you? I don't… I don't understand why they would do that," creator Zha'Ora said uncertainly.

"Perhaps this is part of the experiment."

The creator was disturbed by this thought, squirming a little on her seat.

"That's not… surely it couldn't…" She grew silent. "That's messed up."

It appeared their attempt to cheer the creator up was not going as planned. But creator Zha'Ora was not done with her questions yet.

"So this… Overseer guy? He runs the show, right?"

"Affirmative."

"And he's the one sending Sunei after us… well, after you, basically."

"Affirmative."

"Must be a scary person," the creator muttered.

"Overseer is the human in charge of the project," they explained. "He is the head researcher and the leader of the group. It is his fault that this platform was captured in the first place. The foreign programs inserted into our consciousness are his doing, the reprogramming of every geth program's core behavior – "

"Wait!" the creator called out, straightening out on her bed and looking at them sharply. "Hold on just a moment. What foreign programs? What, what, what? What does that mean?"

Creator Zha'Ora's sudden interest threw them off momentarily. They had completely forgotten that they had not mentioned the Overseer's programs to the creator before. That should have been something they'd remember during an exchange of data with her. The subject had never come up in a conversation.

And they had to admit they had believed that it would never have to be brought up. The creator did not need to know that bit of information, it was irrelevant for her and the crew's continued existence.

But the creator was leaning closer, determined look in her eyes, teeming with interest. They would lose nothing by sharing personal information. Instead there was a chance that the shared experience might strengthen the trust between creator Zha'Ora and the geth.

"In an attempt to control this unit, the Overseer's team installed multitude of their own programs into this platform. They now coexist with our programs."

"And what do those programs do, exactly?" the creator asked. She sounded worried and they guessed she had a valid reason to be apprehensive about it.

"The creator is in no danger. The programs mostly feed junk data into out processor, slowing down our thinking processes with useless information. The programs are incapable of running our platform on their own. They are rather primitive and we would get rid of them if we were able."

She ruminated on this for quite a while, leaning back on the bed and staring at the ceiling above them.

"So they really want to get you back, then," she said after a while, words slow and uncertain.

"They have invested great amount of time and money on this platform. This project is not something the Overseer would just leave behind and as far as we are aware, this platform was the last remaining test subject they had. It is not easy to capture a functioning geth platform."

"Yeah," the creator mused. "I know."

The humming of the engines filled the corridor and the creator fell to lie on her back. Her legs kicked slowly over the edge of the bed, forming a slow rhythm of back and forth movement. For a moment they thought that the data exchange had ended, but then creator Zha'Ora opened her mouth again.

"Have you thought about going back? To Rannoch, I mean? Or beyond the veil or whatever?"

They had not. The possibility had not felt feasible before, the chances of getting back to the geth so minimal that it wasn't even worth a thought. But things had changed. If they asked, creator Zha'Ora would probably be willing to help them back beyond the veil. They could, in theory, go back. They could warn the rest of the geth about the humans working on something they weren't supposed to and with a little firepower they could easily shut down the Overseer's project and prevent any further experimenting from the human's part. The creator would probably be more than happy to help them and get rid of the geth unit guilt free.

It was a logical solution to a problem they hadn't even known they had. They would have to think about this some more.

But the creator was waiting for a response though. A response they didn't have. So instead they went with a simple answer.

"No data available."

Creator Zha'Ora gave a predictable answer, groaning loudly and shooting her arms in the air in surrender. Even though these signs suggested irritation, with all the data they had gathered on this specific creator they knew this to be a good sign. Creator Zha'Ora might have complained, but for some reason she seemed to find this response humorous.

"You know what, rust butt?" the creator asked warmly. "You're alright. If you ever want me to take you somewhere specific, just go ahead and ask. But as long as you want to stay on my ship, you're welcome to do so."

They appreciated this. They truly did. A creator offering her help to a geth was not common and they understood how great of an achievement it was. And it also helped to know that all of this was based on mutual respect, something that was not easy to accomplish.


	36. Chapter 36

Much to the creator's joy, the second candidate to buy one of the remaining armor sets seemed to be a bit more interested in making a deal than the one from before. The excitement creator Zha'Ora had had for the first buyer had decreased considerably, but it was still there. This time the creator was simply relieved that someone was showing enough interest to try to haggle the prices.

After a whole day of messages sent back and forth, or as creator Zha'Ora called it: "furious negotiations", a deal was struck and a location settled. The exchange was to take place on a small space station called _Gatla_ located on a large asteroid orbiting a distant sun. The creator's relief was palpable and it was having positive effects on the team as well. They even caught her trying to start up a conversation with VI-02 (Scribble) after giving the AI the coordinates. They could not hear what was being said and did not think it wise to try and get closer just to eavesdrop on them, but by the end of it they knew that the creator was not satisfied with the results. Improvement had been made, there was no question about it, but there was still a long way to go if the counterparts refused to have conversations longer than a few passing comments.

It didn't take them long to arrive at _Gatla_, it had not been far to begin with. They observed the approaching station through the windows of the cockpit while VI-02 (Scribble) took care of the landing and docking process. _Gatla_ was not a marvel to behold, not a show of organic craftsmanship or anything of the sort. Instead it was a simple rest stop for long distance space travellers to stop for a while, stretch their legs and eat something other than the grub usually being served on large freighter ships. The place looked sturdy, strong enough to give any passing pirates a second thought before starting anything illegal.

The ship rocked roughly as it connected to the dock and a loud hissing sound from the direction of the airlock told them that they had arrived safely. From this angle they could not see much more than the scarred and scraped side of the station. Losing interest in sightseeing they left the cockpit just in time to see VI-13 (Lucky) leaving the armor set near the airlock. The armor had been securely packed into a plastic crate and was waiting to be taken out with the creator.

Creator Zha'Ora was standing next to VI-13 (Lucky) and wiping her hands on the front of her suit, humming some tune to herself. Her spirits were high, mood good and even though the geth noticed some signs of stress, they did not see any reason to worry. Small amounts of stress drove organics to work more efficiently. They would keep a close optic on creator Zha'Ora in the near future to make sure that her stress levels stayed in acceptable levels.

"Do we have anything we need to buy? How's our food? We just got more, right?"

VI-13 (Lucky) was silent for a moment, then simply said: "Yes."

"Is that a 'Yes, we have to buy something' or 'Yes, we just got more food last time'?"

The mech thought about this for a moment, then straightened up to give its response.

"No."

"Mm-hm," creator Zha'Ora said, clearly holding in her laughter. "Yes. Good. That's real good, Lucky." She turned a little and spotted the geth platform. Her expression brightened.

"There you are!" she said as if she'd been looking for them for ages. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

The ship wasn't that big. There were only so many places their platform could have been. But when they reminded the creator of this, it only seemed to amuse her.

"Yeah, yeah," she said and waved her hand dismissively. "Never mind that. I needed to talk to you."

"Begin data exchange."

"So I was thinking about who to bring with me to the station," she said pointing a thumb at the airlock. "You know how I usually take like a three mech team with me and all that? But _Gatla's_ a pretty safe place, I hear and then I realized something. You have legs now! Like, two of them."

This statement was correct. They were uncertain why the creator saw it necessary to remind them of this fact, though, and let their confusion show through their expression.

"How much can carry?" she asked and looked them up and down. "Do you know? I mean, the new leg probably throws your estimations off a little, but I was just wondering if you'd be strong enough to carry, oh, I don't know, the armor there for example?"

The specifics of creator Zha'Ora's declaration were starting to clear now. To be honest, they were not completely sure how much their tweaked platform would be able to carry. Never had this unit been a heavy lift model, but with three of their four limbs replaced, it was to be expected that their carry weight had suffered. To satisfy the creator's curiosity and their own interest they moved to stand next to the crate.

For the short time that they had had this new leg, they had experienced some trouble with the mobility of the limb. It had been expected, of course. Just as the arms before it, the leg was not quite geth-quality, clunky and awkward in comparison. The… feel of the leg was not quite correct. They likened it to an organic "sleeping limb", a completely numb and a little bit unresponsive part of their platform. But with little extra precision the limbs could be operated tolerably. They had no doubt that in a few more days they would be able to use the leg like normal once they truly had gotten used to it.

They kneeled carefully, situating their platform so that once they would try to get upright again, they would be using the lifting power of synthetic muscle instead of the wonky fenris leg. Grabbing hold of the crate, they moved to stand up slowly, finding balance to keep them upright.

"It appears this platform is capable of carrying the armor," they stated turning to look at the creator. "Query: Why did the creator wish to know?"

Creator Zha'Ora clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I just wanted to see if you'd be strong enough to carry my stuff. And you are. This is great! Now you can come with me to the station!"

Running a few quick tests on their audio receivers they concluded that there was nothing wrong with them and they had heard correctly. The creator had stopped clapping and instead had her hands folded in front of her, an expectant look in her eyes.

"Please elaborate."

Her expression fell a little. "Well, I mean you don't have to come if you don't want to." She scratched the side of her helmet. "I just thought that you've been spending so much time cooped up in here that maybe you wanted to… I don't know, stretch your legs a little and see new places? You could help me with this stuff and get out of the ship for a while. A win-win situation, right?"

She was looking at them hopefully, still expecting something out of them.

"Chances of detection: 100%," they said.

The creator let out an odd sound, blowing air through closed lips and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, they'll see you. So what? No one's seen a geth outside the veil for ages! I doubt anyone will be able to recognize you as one anyway."

This sounded more like an excuse than real a reason for them to come along.

"Come on," she groaned. "It's _Gatla_, for crying out loud. It's not like anyone will care."

Evidence said otherwise. Last time they had left the ship had left their platform sans a few limbs. But then again, that time they had been on their own. With creator Zha'Ora as their company, there was a low possibility that something similar would happen again. She knew how to deal with organics and had more experience on traversing stations of this kind. The learning experience could prove useful in the long run.

Their agreement to go with the creator brightened her expression even more. She clapped her hands again.

"Yes! We can put your leg to a test out there where you'll actually be walking longer distances than what's between the kitchen and the cockpit!"

The data they would gather from this would be appreciated, they could not deny this. They just hoped it would not end costing them more than they were ready to pay for it. They moved the crate a little so it was more securely in their hold while creator Zha'Ora gave out orders to her crew.

"You better be good while I'm gone. I want no trouble on board, we've had that enough to last us a lifetime lately," she said, arms crossed and stance firm. "VI-09, you can stay offline. Find a nice spot and stay there until I come back. Lucky, 15 and 18, you will guard the ship while I'm gone. Not that I think anything's going to happen, but just in case, you know? And no freaking out while I'm gone, got it?" Her eyes lingered on VI-13 (Lucky). "It's a small station, it's not like we'll be gone for long anyway."

Whether creator Zha'Ora acknowledged her tendency to get her estimation wrong every time she left the ship or not, the crew did not seem to mind. VI-13 (Lucky) and VI-15 took their places next to the airlock, like sentries guarding those going in and out. VI-18 started walking back and for the corridor and they could hear VI-09's skittering steps as it ran off into the cargo hold to shut down.

They turned their attention to the creator, waiting for their orders, but noticed that she was otherwise occupied. Creator Zha'Ora moved her feet around awkwardly, staring at the floor.

"So Scribble, keep me posted if something happens here, alright?" she said quietly.

"Yes," was all the AI gave back.

"Sure. Good. Great. Let's go now," the creator muttered, waving at the direction of the airlock. "We'll be back in a few."

The inside of _Gatla_ turned out to be just as impressive as the outside, cramped full of shops, rental rooms for travellers and residential cubicles for the permanent inhabitants. The air was stuffed, their olfactory sensors could pick out smells of sweat and oil. It surprised them a little to see how crowded the place was when creator Zha'Ora guided them away from the docking stations. They had not expected there to be so many organics, especially considering how small the station actually was and the increased amount of organics meant a greater chance of one of them recognizing their platform to be what it was. This worried them greatly. They doubted creator Zha'Ora would be able protect them if someone decided to attack.

They turned to mention this to the creator, but noticed how relaxed she actually was. She hadn't looked this calm in a long time. The amount of people didn't faze her, she was just walking with a eased gait, caring little about the goings on around her.

Perhaps there was no reason to be worried. Perhaps their analysis on this place based on their own fears was unnecessary. After all, it appeared that the creator's remark about how people would not recognize them as a geth was correct. Only a handful of organics looked their way more than once, but none of them seemed to harbor much more than curiosity at the sight of their platform. Whether it was because most organics did not know what geth looked like or because this specific platform had been modified so heavily by the creator that their appearance no longer matched the perceived look of a regular geth was still open to interpretation, but to the crowd at large the geth unit following after creator Zha'Ora was nothing more than a mech servant helping out its owner.

"Have you ever been to an organic station like this before?" the creator asked them. "I mean, besides _Shangri La_. I doubt someone like you got to travel around that much."

"No," they said. "None of our programs had been beyond the veil before our abduction. These organic stations differ from geth stations. Everything is so loud, so vibrant. There is too much to process, we cannot see everything at once."

Creator Zha'Ora tilted her head. "Must be a big difference getting out after who-knows-how-long you've been trapped. Should've brought you along sooner."

They thought about reminding her that she had only recently installed their leg, but decided that to be unnecessary.

"The buyer told us to meet her near this local bar," creator Zha'Ora told them conversationally, showing her Omni-tool with the supposed message on it to them. "She said something about taking a look at the merchandise before sealing the deal. I mean, I get it. A lot of lousy people put good pics on the net but then when the deal's done it turns out they were selling garbage the whole time. I learned that lesson the hard way."

She pushed her way through the hordes of organics, waving for the platform to follow. Navigating through the people was proving challenging with the burden they were carrying and they had to calibrate their carrying angle again after every close encounter. These people did not seem willing to give way to a synthetic, even one with a somewhat heavy burden.

The station was busy with people coming in and out. So many voices spoke at the same time and it was confusing. Even though they appreciated the chance to get out of the ship and see the world outside, they would say that the calm quiet of the ship was preferable to this.

The creator led them through the station in search of the bar mentioned in the buyer's message. _Gatla_ wasn't big enough to get lost in and soon enough creator Zha'Ora had located the establishment. She cried out in victory and pointed at the dirty and rundown building like an adventurer finding her treasure.

"Hah!" she shouted. "This must be the place!"

They had not passed any other bars and they doubted a station this size could fit more than one. They eyed up the building, trying to decide whether it was safe to go in or not. The place was open to the walkway outside, the whole wall missing so that any patrons could just easily walk in if they so chose. It looked like the inside of the place was sucking out light like a black hole, the room dimming down so that it was hard to see the back wall from the spot that they were standing on. Organics were trickling in and out of the bar in varying states on inebriation. Their struggled movements did not seem to bother creator Zha'Ora, so they copied her nonchalant pose and tried to emulate her attitude.

"I wonder if she wanted to meet us inside or…" she muttered and brought her Omni-tool closer. Blinking neon lights from the bar were mixing with the warm orange glow of the device on her visor. The creator hummed as she skimmed through the message. "I don't know… It doesn't say. Maybe if we wait here for a while she'll show up. Oh darn, I didn't even ask what she looks like. She could be anybody! How will I even know if I see her?"

While the creator muttered slowly to herself, they turned to scan the surroundings. Movement never stopped in this place, organics of different species were walking past them, hurrying along on their own missions, never stopping for too long. None of them seemed to care about a creator and a geth standing in wait, none of them were interested in what the platform was carrying. Maybe if they drew out the armor? That might clue the possible buyer in. They shifted the crate in their arms, moving its weight so that they could turn to have another look at the bar behind them.

"Maybe if I send her a message. Tell her that we're here," creator Zha'Ora talked more to herself than the geth.

The human behind the bar counter was looking a few seconds away from falling asleep. Head propped on one arm and a glassy look in his eyes spoke of a long day spent catering to drunken customers. Most of the organics sitting around the tables were of the same species as him, minimal wage freighter pilots no doubt, or others of the same ilk. They spotted a group of salarians huddled at the back, a few drinks deep into the day as well as a handful of turians sprinkled in the midst of the humans, mostly mercenary types by the looks of it. And there at the very back, nearly swallowed whole by the shadows, an asari –

_Hostile alert! Enemy in the vicinity!_

There was no mistaking it. The asari at the back, the one that was staring at their direction and smiling widely at the clear panic the platform was showing, was without a doubt the same that had attacked the ship previously.

The creator. They needed to warn the creator!

"Creator Zha'Ora," they started, nudging her sharply with the crate.

The asari jumped out of her table and made her way through the bar. She was shoving patrons out of her way, smile strained on her lips.

The creator turned to look at them, rubbing the spot where they had jabbed her with the container.

"What?" she said.

"Hostiles in the area." The platform's expressive plates flared out in warning, strengthening their message.

The creator whirled around, eyes large behind her visor, looking around until she spotted the quickly approaching asari. She flinched violently, grabbing a hold of their arm.

"Drop the crate!" she screeched. "We're getting out of here!" She pulled on their arm, throwing off their balanced hold on the box and the thing fell with a loud thud on the ground. Organics around them were shooting worried glances, trying to find the source of the commodity.

Creator Zha'Ora was pulling at their arm, trying to dash past the civilians. It was clear to them that they were not going to make it far, not this time. It was highly unlikely that this encounter had been a coincidence. It was a calculated trap, it had been carefully planned and they had fallen for it. There was no buyer, there was only this. The asari had no doubt counted on them trying to make a run for it and would stop them one way or another.

"Out of the way, people!" the asari shouted behind them and the authority her voice carried was enough to send organics scattering. A biotic wave hit their platform from behind. It wasn't strong enough to harm their platform, but caused them to momentarily lose control of their new limb. The fenris leg gave out under them and the change in the balance was enough to knock them over. The creator's hold on their arm was lost and the platform collapsed against the floor with a crash.

Creator Zha'Ora turned around, eyes large like saucers and for a moment it looked like she was going to just turn her back on them and keep running.

For one whole millisecond they were sure that she was going to abandon them and fear flooded their systems.

Of course she didn't. They should not even have considered it. Even thought it probably would have been logical for her to leave them behind to save herself, organics rarely did things based on logic. Emotions ruled out clear thought. An organic would not just leave a friend behind.

Loud booming of boots caught their attention as the asari walked past their platform to stand between them and creator Zha'Ora. She looked absolutely delighted to see them again, like running into old acquaintances. She reached to grab creator Zha'Ora's shoulder with a tight grip.

"Hello, dear," Sunei said. "How good to see you again."


	37. Chapter 37

Zha should have known this was going to happen. At this point she just should have known better. The moment Zha started thinking that life was going to go her way, that things would get better, things took a turn and she should have expected this from the very start. But standing face to face with the blue alien dressed from head to toe in merc gear Zha reminded herself to keep her expectations low next time. That was, if there was even going to be a next time.

And that was a big if.

Sunei was smiling brightly like it was the best day ever, but her manic grin couldn't hide the pure malice simmering beneath. She didn't look too good. The smile was forced and her eyes twinkling with barely hidden anger.

Zha's gaze flew to the asari's left eye. Last time she had seen her, that eye had been nothing more than a bloody socket, but now the missing body part had been replaced by a prosthetic to match the remaining one. It was almost lifelike, but something about it made Zha's skin crawl. It was just a little bit off, just on the side of uncanny valley. Maybe it was because of the grin the madwoman was sporting, maybe it was the tight and scarred skin around it tightening as Sunei showed her clean rows of teeth, Zha wasn't sure. In the artificial light of _Gatla_ Sunei's eyes looked mismatched, the left one incapable of replicating the spiteful glow of the right one.

The asari noticed Zha staring and the smile twitched a little. She straightened up to her full length and tapped a finger on the marred flesh underneath her prosthetic eye.

"You like?" she asked conversationally. "Take a real close look at it, little girl. This one's on you."

Zha had to look away, she couldn't keep eye contact with the imposing asari. Looking around desperately Zha tried to find a way out, but couldn't see anywhere to run. People were giving them a wide berth, avoiding looking at them as if afraid that they would somehow be forced to participate in whatever it was that was going on there. Zha's throat was dry, her eyes jumping from person to person in a panicked effort to find someone to help them. But there was no one. No one was going to step in, not even if things got violent. And one look at the asari told Zha that Sunei knew it as well.

"I've been looking all over for you, dear," Sunei said and took a few steps closer, cutting the distance between them by half. Zha stumbled back, nearly falling over her own feet. Behind the asari she could see the geth getting on its feet, but it wouldn't approach Sunei. "It was really silly of you to put _my crew's_ armor on sale like that. Did you not think things through?"

Her head was ringing empty, her tongue like a dead fish between her teeth. Was she going to die? Was Sunei going to rip her into pieces so small that not even her own crew would be able to recognize her? She wasn't ready, this couldn't be it!

Zha's silence seemed to amuse the asari. She lurked closer again, moving like a predator stalking its prey.

"Our first meeting didn't quite go as I had planned," Sunei said, her warm voice contrasting with her movements. She circled around Zha only to end up right in front of her, leaning in awfully close to the quarian's visor. Personal space apparently meant nothing for her. "I had no idea that things would go the way they did, let me tell you. I thought you'd be an easy target, you know?" Sunei's fingers brushed over Zha's chest, just over where her heart was. "A little girl all alone in the Galaxy with nothing but cheap salvaged mechs to keep her company. I underestimated you. Or, well, your mechs really." She leaned back and crossed her arms, eyeing Zha up and down like a piece of meat.

Zha's feet felt like they were glued to the ground and she couldn't look away. It was like the world around them had died and there was no one else but her and this terrifying asari left on the whole station. Zha's mouth tasted bitter and her heart was hammering hard in her chest. And Sunei just smiled. Blood was roaring in Zha's ears, nearly drowning out the words the alien spoke.

Sunei tapped a finger on her lips in thought, eyes narrowing and the smile dying down a little. The look she was giving was condescending. "The human I work for was very impressed when I told him what your mechs did to my crew," she said, fake glee washing away to reveal something cold and sharp underneath. "He would very much like to hear more about them from you."

When Zha was unable to give out any kind of answer to the expectant look of the asari, Sunei's smile grew wider again, the skin around her left eye tightening. Zha's genuine fright made the asari laugh, the throaty sound burrowing under Zha's skin and sinking its tiny teeth so deep she could feel them chilling her bones. She wanted to turn her earpiece off to block out the sound, but didn't dare to move in fear of provoking Sunei.

"I…" Zha stared, barely managing to spit out a single vowel. "You wouldn't attack me on a crowded station. Too many witnesses." She was praying for the Ancestors that she was right.

The laughter quieted so quickly Zha worried that she'd angered the asari. But Sunei just looked at her with a cocked head. She stared at Zha and shook her head with clear amusement.

"Trust me, little girl," she spoke in a hushed tone and moved closer as if to entrust Zha with a great secret. "If I was here to kill you, your pretty face would be paste on the walls. But I'm not here for you, girl. I'm here for that." She pointed at the geth.

Zha turned to look at the geth behind the asari. It was frozen to its spot and Zha thought it hadn't moved a single step after getting up. It looked from the asari to her, expressive plates flat against its head. Zha balled her fists and forced her legs to move, walking to stand between the geth and the asari.

This seemed to only amuse Sunei more.

"Oh, my dear, there's no need for that," she laughed. "When we're done here, you are going to hand over the geth yourself."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and cold. Zha's eyes landed on her Omni-tool and a thought entered her mind. She should contact her crew, contact Scribble and tell the AI to send everyone and she meant _everyone_ to protect her skinny behind. But Zha couldn't reach for the device, not while Sunei was looking. And the asari was not taking her eyes off her, staring at Zha like she knew every step she was going to take even before Zha had thought of them herself. The blue alien looked like she was waiting for an excuse to tear Zha's arm off just for the fun of it.

"Why don't we do this the simple way? There's no need for all this fuss," Sunei said and spread her arms wide. If she was beckoning Zha to come for a hug, she would be waiting a long time. "My boss would like to meet you. He sent me here to pick you both up. So why don't you come along nice and easy and we can do this without any extra drama?"

"Your… your boss?" Zha squeaked and turned to look at the geth behind her. "As in the…?"

"Overseer," it confirmed her fears in one single word.

Oh boy.

"Indeed," Sunei said as well. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "So here's how this is going to go, dear. You and your geth are going to come with me, peacefully. We're going to walk to my ship and then we're going to take off to meet the Overseer. He'll pay you for the geth and things will be peachy." Sunei's teeth glistened in the low light of the station. "I promise I won't kill you."

Shivers ran up Zha's spine. The asari was staring down at her with a look of pure malice. There was no love for her there and the violence rolling off of Sunei was doing its best to suffocate Zha in her suit.

"If… if you think I'm going to come with you on my own free will, then you are out of y- your mind!" Zha squeaked as bravely as she could muster. Her whole body was shivering, she felt like she was going to die, but she stood her ground. She was not going to play to Sunei's tune.

But the asari refused to be intimidated by her ramrod straight pose and trembling fists. Sunei just covered her mouth and laughed softly, like a parent witnessing their child trying to be funny. Her amusement sounded genuine and her other arm cradled her middle. Zha bit her teeth together, looking around desperately trying to find at least one person wiling to help them out. None of the passers-by even gave them a second look.

She only looked away for a second. Zha could have sworn she had the asari in the corner of her eye, but when she turned back to look at her, Sunei was standing right in front of her again. Zha yelped and tried to jump away, but the asari threw her arm around the quarian's shoulder and drew her real tight and close. Zha could feel the asari's sidearm against her thigh, pressing into her suit and the flesh beneath.

"Proximity alert!" the geth proclaimed loudly.

"Let me tell you a little secret, my dear," Sunei said pleasantly, speaking like one friend to another. "I'm trying to be as nice as I can, but you are wearing me thin. The _only_ reason I haven't killed you yet is because the Overseer wishes to speak to you for some ungodly reason. If it weren't for him, I'd tear open your suit, right here and now, witnesses be damned. I'd tear you open, crack your visor and leave you here to die for what your little bot did to my eye. I told this to my boss and he keeps on insisting that I bring you to him in one piece. And you know what? He's only doing that because he thinks that you are smart enough to take up his invitation." Sunei's eyes were shining bright, a mad glint in the real one. "So tell me, brat. What do you think will happen when he realizes that you _aren't_ that smart? Go ahead. Guess!"

"Step away from creator Zha'Ora," AI775 said.

Sunei pulled Zha even closer, fingers curling around her shoulder in an effort to dig through the exo-suit. Her breath was fogging up the front of Zha's visor, something the younger quarian didn't much care for. She was getting a closer view of Sueni's gums than strictly necessary and wouldn't have been surprised if the asari had attempted to eat her whole then and there.

"He's not going to care what happens to you," Sunei purred. "You won't be an asset anymore. And he won't mind if you live or die. No one will notice that you've disappeared. They Galaxy won't care that some quarian brat with no plans for her future goes missing."

Zha couldn't move. Her whole body was stuck at the side of this homicidal alien. Her life was flashing before her eyes, breath stuck in her throat. She hadn't even realized she was crying before the tears rolled past her trembling lips. The salty taste did little to wake her from her stupor.

Suddenly Sunei was yanked back and there was a geth between them. The unit AI775's expressive plates were flared out as far as they could go and the lights around its photoreceptor were shining bright.

"The asari's proximity causes creator Zha'Ora discomfort."

"You don't have to tell her that!" Zha whispered in mixed embarrassment and relief. Her voice was breaking, but as far as she kept it down, maybe the others wouldn't notice. "I was this close to threatening her away, I swear."

Sunei burst out laughing again, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Oh, wow," she said, mockingly impressed. "You've trained your pet, haven't you? Maybe the Overseer was right. That was a real neat trick."

"The asari needs to leave this station. This platform is not coming with her."

"It doesn't really matter if you two come with me or not," Sunei said to Zha, completely ignoring the geth. "It's all the same to me. I have a feeling that you'll come running back to us sooner rather than later anyway." She reached into a satchel on her belt.

Zha's back grew rigid and she grabbed a hold of the geth's arm, ready to yank it back whatever the asari was planning. AI775 let out an auditory warning and shifted so it was standing ready to make a run for it.

Sunei didn't care about any of that. She smiled wide and fake pulling out a piece of paper from her pouch and offered it to Zha.

It was a calling card with the same curious logo on it than her armor. Zha moved past the geth to grab it with shaking fingers and turned it around. On it was a set of coordinates to… somewhere.

"When you decide that you want to exchange the geth for money or your… well, anything, really, then come to this location. We'll be there for fourteen days. After that we'll be gone."

"I won't go," Zha said with a shaking voice. "I… Nothing you can do will make me go there."

Sunei just chuckled and winked. "Oh, if you say so. You are a brave little girl, aren't you?"

Zha looked at her, trying to stand up taller but only reaching the asari's collarbone. The geth was standing at ready by her side and Zha felt a little bit of strength returning to her body.

"Well, if you're so sure, then I guess there's no point in wasting my time here any longer," Sunei said and lifted her hands in surrender. Her voice didn't speak of submission, though, sounding more like the asari was laughing in Zha's expense at a joke she hadn't realized just yet. "But I'd suggest you return back to your ship to see how your crew is doing. You seemed so attached to them last time." Sunei smiled wide before saying: "Remember. Fourteen days."

What? Zha blinked rapidly, the words connecting slowly in her head. What was Sunei saying? She didn't understand. Surely it couldn't mean what she thought it meant, right?

Zha didn't have time to voice her questions though. Before she could get a word out, the asari had given a mocking bow and turned on her heels. Just like that, Sunei walked away, leaving both Zha and the geth unharmed and disappearing into the crowd like nothing.

It couldn't be this easy.

It never was.

The geth said something, its voice nothing more than a dull buzz somewhere beyond the roaring of blood in Zha's ears. What… what had just happened? What had Sunei meant by telling her to go and check on the crew?

The crew!

Without a word of warning, Zha bolted. One moment she was standing still like a statue, next she was running past the people of _Gatla,_ pushing them out of her way in a desperate run back to her ship. She could just barely hear the geth's questioning chirps behind her, but she couldn't stop to see if it was following her or not. She didn't have time, she needed to get to her ship! Her heart had leaped out of her chest and was currently hammering in her throat with painful pulses. Breathing was hard, her legs were hurting, but Zha wouldn't stop. She couldn't.

She nearly tripped on her own feet trying to make her way through the masses of people around her. Someone yelled after her when she bumped into them, making them drop whatever it was that they had been carrying. Zha didn't stop to hear it, she didn't care. Everything around her was a blur and all she could see clearly was the signs telling way to the docking ports. Her goal was clear in her mind, she needed to get to her ship. Zha needed to make sure…

Surely Sunei had just tried to rattle her, to get a reaction out of the poor gullible quarian. There was no way that she could've… Scribble would have contacted her if something was wrong, right?

The docking port came into view and all Zha could think of was barging into her ship. All else would come after that. Pushing through a group of salarians, she brought up her Omni-tool, calling desperately for Scribble. She was yelling, crying the AI's name until her throat was sore.

The ship was where Zha had left it, thank the Ancestors. The door was shut, like it should be, but the sight of normalcy wasn't enough to quell the uneasy twisting in Zha's stomach. She was panting so hard she thought she could taste blood when she finally made it to the airlock. Zha was leaning against the door, heaving and huffing like a dying woman, but there still wasn't enough oxygen in her lungs.

"S- Scribble," she wheezed. "P- please… open the airlock."

There was no response. The door didn't open.

"_Please_, Scribble!" Zha was crying now. "I know I was being a complete idiot and I'm sorry, but please open the door. Just… just please, I'm so sorry."

Nothing. Zha's legs gave out under her and she slid down the surface of the door, sobbing and snotting under her helmet. She could hear the geth approaching, the uneven sounds of its steps just loud enough to reach her ears over her own crying.

"Please step aside, creator Zha'Ora," it said.

Zha looked up at the platform pitifully, crying loudly.

"We will open the door for the creator," the geth said.

She couldn't stand the geth's unaffected blasé voice. It sounded bored, it sounded like it couldn't give a damn about the situation. And Zha wanted to shove the thing back, kick and scream. But she couldn't even get to her feet, her whole body was convulsing with hiccups. Tears were gathering into tiny pools near her neck where the suit was stuck to her skin.

"Asking permission to move the creator with force."

Her sobbing would never be good enough answer, but at least she tried to make it sound like she was telling the geth to go somewhere the suns didn't shine. Instead of following her muffled orders the geth kneeled down in front of her and grabbed a hold of her shoulders. Carefully it moved her aside so it could reach the door easily and fed a code to the panel next to it to open the space-side airlock door. AI775 was looking expectant when it turned to look down at Zha.

"If creator Zha'Ora wishes to inspect the ship, she needs to get to her feet. Please give us an auditory signal if you wish for assistance from platform AI775."

"They're gone," Zha bawled loudly. "Gone! Don't you get it! She destroyed them! Scribble isn't answering me, they're gone. And they won't come back, she got them!"

"We are choosing to interpret that as a plea for help," it said, leaning down to grab her by the arm.

"Don't touch me!" Zha barked and ripped her arm away from the geth.

The geth straightened up and stared down at her. "Creator Zha'Ora is letting her emotions get the better of her. We implore you to think clearly." The geth frowned. "This is not healthy."

Who cared about healthy, Zha thought bitterly. Not the geth, that was for sure. All of this was just an inconvenience to it. She wanted to scream at it, to curse and throttle it a little just so it could feel even a sliver of what was going through her mind right now. She wanted the geth to hurt, to stop being so damn calm about this. But Zha couldn't get a word out. Her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth, numb from the pressure she had put on it with her teeth.

Zha cradled her legs against her chest, crying louder. It was pointless! She didn't want to go in, she didn't want to see! Somehow she just knew that Sunei's mercs had gotten in and they had killed every last one of her mechs. There was no other reason why Scribble wasn't answering her, and she knew it. But Zha didn't want to see it. She didn't want to go in there to see it and make it real.

"The creator needs to get up."

No. No she didn't. She shot the dirtiest look she could muster in her state at the geth, but it didn't have any effect on the synthetic being.

"The creator can't stay out here forever."

Watch and learn.

"The asari Sunei will come after us sooner or later. Creator Zha'Ora does not wish to remain on the same spot when she gets here. The most logical course of action is to leave this station, hide and think of a plan for our next move."

Well the geth could take its logic and shove it.

"Creator Zha'Ora? We are waiting for a verbal confirmation."

Zha gnawed at her lip and looked down. Her nose was hot and stuffy and cheeks wet and she couldn't reach to wipe the tears away. All she could do was sit there and cry some more. But no matter how hard she might have tried to tell herself otherwise, the geth was right. She couldn't just stay here. She couldn't sit on her ass on some space station out in the great empty nowhere until she starved. Someone would come to kick her out. It might have even been Sunei.

Her knees were wobbly when she got on her feet, threatening to give out under her. The geth looked like it was about to offer her help, but pulled back before making contact. A sting of regret tried to penetrate Zha's stubborn anger, but didn't even leave a dent. Instead of helping her the geth turned around to let them in proper.

The ship was silent. Too silent. It made Zha's stomach churn as she stood rooted to her spot, unable to make it further in from the airlock.

"Scribble?" she called out feebly, hoping against hope. "Are you… are you here?"

No. No she wasn't. The ship was echoing with her pathetic voice and it sent shivers down her spine. Zha wanted to sit back down, maybe cry a little more. But she grabbed a hold of the wall and tried to force her legs to carry her in.

The geth moved past her, making its way towards the cockpit. A step away from stepping in it turned around to look at her, waiting for her to follow in further.

Zha couldn't move. Her body felt heavier than it should have and her feet weren't following orders. It was like she was frozen over, unable to do much else but shiver and sob quietly. The echoing silence was booming in her ears, making her head ache. They were gone. All of them. Her crew wasn't here. Scribble might have been sulking, but it wouldn't be as petty as to leave her hanging like this. Somehow Sunei had gotten to her crew, the AI installed within the ship included.

AI775 was surprisingly patient in its wait. It was standing at the door to the cockpit, silent and expressionless. Zha licked her lips and ducked her head. It was staring at her and she could feel the weight of its glare.

She couldn't stay here. She needed to get moving sooner or later. But walking further in would only serve to make it clearer. They were alone. Just the two of them. Zha's eyes were stinging. She couldn't just stare at the floor whole day.

Forcing her feet to move, Zha took one step. Then another. Her feet were heavy like someone had replaced the muscles with lead. Her footfalls were echoing loudly in the unnaturally silent ship.

"Scribble?" Zha called out, her voice wavering something awful. She didn't think she'd really get a response, but you could always try, right? Zha's throat was constricting. It hurt, it made breathing harder than it should have been. Wringing her fingers, Zha made her way towards the cockpit with snail's pace.

All the lights were out, the engines were off and the ship's internal temperature had dropped. The geth approached her carefully, stepping in stride next to her as the quarian made her way deeper in. It remained silent behind her, something Zha would have been grateful for had she had the mental capacity to think about it for longer than a millisecond. The geth was no doubt just filled with unimportant information it was preparing to spew out later, but its silence was a blessing for the time being.

The cockpit was empty when Zha got there. What she had feared was the corpses of her dead crew within, but there was nothing of the sort. It was like nothing at all was wrong, everything was as it should be. Everything but Scribble, that was. Zha sat on the pilot's chair and pushed some buttons on the console, trying to get a response out of the ship. The engines turned on with a struggle, just as always, the ship started to vibrate under the strain the motor was putting on it. Zha's hands were trembling as she coaxed the ship to respond to her commands. Scribble wasn't there. She wasn't there just like Zha had already known she wouldn't be.

Zha was working herself right back into the panic mode. She stumbled out of her seat, sending the old patched thing spinning. Zha backed away from the blinking consoles and bumped into the geth behind her.

Her yelp was pathetic and let the synthetic know that she was crying under her visor. She waited in horror for the geth's response, but none came. The platform wasn't even trying to emote, its faceplates completely still and lights dim around its eye.

Zha opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't find the words. But then a loud crashing sound from somewhere further in the ship drew her attention. She peered behind the geth as the platform turned to the same direction. It sounded like something had fallen down. The sound had been so sudden and loud that it left Zha's heart beating fast and loud against her chest.

Biting her teeth together Zha squeezed past the geth to make her way towards the source of the sound. It had come from the kitchen. Or, at least she was pretty sure it had. Fists held tight at her sides Zha made the short walk to the kitchen and nearly tripped on her own feet when peered in.

VI-15 was lying on the kitchen floor. Or what was left of it anyway. It looked like it had been propped against the wall but the vibrating of the ship had made it fall to the ground, bits and pieces of it strewn across the floor. It had been blasted to bits, burnt chunks of plastic and metal telling tales of multiple shots fired against it.

Zha was feeling faint. Her ears were ringing and she was forced to take a step back. A sound akin to a wounded animal left her mouth and her hands scrambled to find purchase as the fell back until her back hit a wall behind her.

It was dead. Her VI-15 was dead, blown to pieces and gone forever. Her insides were empty, like a tiny void had appeared there and was trying to suck everything in. Zha's feet gave out under her and she slid down the wall to sit on the ground. And through this all she could do was stare. Stare at her mech on the kitchen floor, as lifeless as the components it had been built from. Zha couldn't turn away, couldn't look anywhere but at VI-15. When she tried to close her eyes, all she could see were the scrapped pieces of 15 around her, wires dangling and sparking while the mech's battery died down.

"The ship is empty."

Zha didn't turn her head at the voice. She didn't have to. The geth was standing next to her, calm and collected like nothing had happened. Its incapability to feel the raging emotions within Zha's mind was infuriating. It was filling the quarian's stomach with bitter acid. Well, you could say that anger was better than the hollow feeling residing within, but then again, anything was better than that. Zha bit her teeth together to keep poisonous words from slipping past her lips. She had to keep it down, had to maintain at least some semblance of control. It was getting harder and harder to do that, though, and the geth was just standing there.

"We understand creator Zha'Ora is upset. Even so – "

"You don't understand anything!" she barked, looking at the geth, then quickly returning her stare back on 15. "Shut up about things you don't understand."

"Creator's rash behavior will be disregarded as she is not in full control of her emotions. But we must recommend immediate takeoff. This station is no longer safe. The ship seems to be fully operational, so it would be best if we left now."

Her insides were boiling, it hurt to stay still but Zha couldn't just jump to her feet either. The geth's words sounded hollow, they were enraging in their logic. Straight to the point. Zha was grinding her teeth together, the pain radiating from them enough to keep her rage going, keeping the void of sadness at bay for a little bit longer. Her crew was gone. While she had been wasting her time with some stupid geth platform, her ship had been attacked and her crew either killed or abducted. Her mechs were gone and she was alone.

"Creator Zha'Ora."

She should have been there. She should have been with her mechs when the attackers came. While she had been out there doing _nothing_, Sunei's pals had gotten in and… and… and now there was nothing she could do.

There was nothing she could do to help her mechs.

It was… getting harder to hold onto the anger. VI-15's head had been separated from its body and it was rattling softly on the ground as the floor vibrated under it. It had been smashed shapeless, like someone had stomped on it after it had been dislodged. Zha's eyes were stinging and she couldn't reach them to scratch the pain away.

Zha pulled her legs against her chest. Trying to compress her body into the smallest possible shape, she realized that she was trembling so bad it could almost be called convulsing. Zha gasped for air, her nose stinging from the fast breaths she'd been trying to force in to ease a burning feeling in her chest. With the way VI-15's head was angled, it almost looked like the mech was staring at Zha. Like it was accusing her of leaving the ship and letting this happen.

A pair of mismatched legs came into her view, blocking the sight of the broken mech. Zha stared at them dumbly. She lifted her head up slowly, staring at the geth purposefully standing between her and the kitchen. It said nothing, just stared down at her as if expecting something out of her.

Had it said something? Zha had stopped listening a while ago and her mind was blank. She wanted to be angry, she really did, but… but she was just feeling so empty. She stared up at the platform's expressionless features and opened her mouth as if to say something. Nothing came out, though and her legs fell flat on the ground.

"Creator Zha'Ora," the geth said. "This is unproductive. We need to get the ship on the move."

"But…" Zha managed to croak out. But what? The geth was right, of course. Staying here was putting the both of them in danger. They needed to get going while going was still good. But Zha couldn't move a muscle. Her eyes fell back on the geth's legs, peering behind them and into the kitchen.

"Asking permission to fly the ship away from the station."

When Zha did nothing to answer the geth, it spoke up again.

"Choosing to interpret the creator's silence as an affirmative." It moved past her, leaving Zha to stare at the remains of VI-15. She could hear it walking into the cockpit and soon the vibrations on the floors turned into a familiar rumble of taking off. It lifted a disgusting taste into her mouth, channeling the acid that had previously filled her stomach into her mouth. The taste was vile and it had Zha gagging. She had to lean away from the wall to cough and hack but thank the Ancestors she did not actually throw up. She lifted her hands over her visor and let out a strangled whimper. The movement of the ship caused 15 to shift, its head lolling away from the rest of its body. Zha had to look away. She had to. Cradling to her side she lay on the floor, staring at the rusty grime on the wall instead of what waited in the kitchen.

She wasn't sure how long they were on the move exactly. Time kind of lost its meaning to her for a moment. She just lay there, on the floor, arms under her head to offer at least some sort of comfort on the hard metal floor. At some point she had closed her eyes in vain hopes that maybe she would fall asleep and when she woke up things would have sorted themselves out, but so far that hadn't happened.

This had been her fault. Zha should have been more careful. If she'd just stopped thinking about her money situation for one moment, she wouldn't be in this situation right now. But no, she had been desperate to get rid of the armor. She hadn't cared to check and double check that the people contacting her were actually who they claimed to be. This attack Sunei had pulled out had been ridiculously easy. The asari had just… snapped her fingers and now Zha had nearly nothing.

No. No, this was not her fault. The asari and the group she represented were not after her. Hell, the bosh'tets probably didn't care one bit for her. What they wanted was their investment. The geth unit. They wanted it back. If Zha had just let them take it in the first place, what had remained of her crew would still be here.

Zha lifted her head up only to drop painfully it against her arms again. She shivered as the cold of the floor seeped through her suit and into her bones. Welp. It wasn't like any of that mattered anymore. There was no point in running. She had no reason to keep going anymore. Her crew was gone. Scribble was gone. Lucky. 18 and 09, all gone. And 15 was dead. What was the point? If she kept going now, what would any of it accomplish? They had already taken all that she cared for, what could they take next? Her life?

What was the point?

The uneven steps of the geth drew her attention forcing her to sit up from the floor. Her arms trembled a little when her body's weight was propped on them, but by some miracle Zha managed to get upright. The geth platform's fenris leg let out a loud clank every time it hit the floor, when in comparison the original thudded softly with the padding of muscle on it.

The geth approached slowly, expressive plates moving up and down, seemingly unable to decide which expression to hold. At least it was trying to emote again. Zha stared up at the platform with empty eyes. She knew it was going to speak up sooner or later. All she needed to do was wait.

The geth decided to go with a frown as stared down at her.

"The ship is headed to the nearest Mass Relay. The creator needs to decide where we will head next."

Zha wanted to laugh. She gave it a try and ended up with gurgling dying sounds of a vorcha instead. She wasn't sure if the geth was able to interpret the noises she was making, but the frown it was wearing did not waver. Her cheeks were itching with the dried tears.

"And how should I know where to go?" she squeaked. "I mean, what am I supposed to do next? I got nothing left! There's no point!"

"That is incorrect," the geth droned. "You are still in possession of a ship and your health. Giving up no is not an option."

"Yeah it is," Zha said and curled to her side so she would not have to look at unit AI775. "I'm doing it right now. Just look."

The geth was silent for two whole seconds and during that time Zha started hoping that maybe it would just leave it be. But no, of course that wasn't an option. Hadn't she learned it already? Synthetics could be so damn stubborn, even when they might have not known what it was they were doing.

The geth circled around her until it was back in her line of sight again. Zha stared dumbly at its mismatched feet, cursing the tin can's existence with all of her might.

"We are having a hard time understanding the drive behind the creator's actions. It is clear that you are allowing your emotions to take control and they are overriding your sense of survival. It is not logical – "

"You can shove your logic somewhere the sun doesn't shine!" Zha shouted and banged her fists against the floor. "I don't care! I'm done! There's nothing left to do! I got no crew, Scribble is gone and all that's left is you!"

Its expression wavered, then settled back into a frown.

"The creator's actions are frustrating beyond belief," it said slowly.

"Well, welcome to the organic experience, buddy!"

"Does the creator wish to get caught by the asari? Because if she does, there are faster ways it can be accomplished."

"Don't you get smart with me!" Zha shouted getting up just so she could poke a finger at the geth's chest. "This is all your fault anyway!"

The plates lifted up and then flared open.

"That is unlikely."

"Yeah, sure. So you're telling me Sunei _isn't_ after your precious hardware?"

"Clearly she is – "

"Oh? Then _this is your fault!_"

If Zha wasn't one hundred percent certain geth were incapable of experiencing emotions, she would have been sure that her shouting was angering this one right here. The lights around its photoreceptor were shining bright, the expressive plates flared as wide as they could be. It gave her immense satisfaction to see this, to think that maybe she was getting through to it.

"We will choose to ignore the creator's last statement since it was clearly made under the influence of volatile emotions," it said just as coolly as before. Damn this tin can and its inability to rise to her challenge! She just wanted to shout at someone and have that someone shout back, but the geth wouldn't even let her do that!

"Well I'm going to – "

_Ping._

Zha saw red. She was just about done with her Omni-tool and with her father sending her stupid messages that only made her feel worse. She was going to block that bastard so he'd no longer be able to send a single word to her and –

It wasn't a message from Fha.

It was from the buyer. The one that had contacted her about the armor.

It was from Sunei.

Zha's fingers hovered over her Omni-tool. Should she open the message? She didn't have to, right? There was no way it could be anything else but more bad news. Her hands were trembling over the device, not quite close enough to touch, but still there, indecisive and uncertain.

The geth unit was watching her carefully. It's eye turned to the tool and then back to her visor.

"It's… It's from Sunei… I think," she told it. "I don't…"

Unit AI775 was silent. Its plates were moving, shifting ever so slightly and the platform's photoreceptor zeroed in on the Omni-tool.

The message was labeled: _Exchange._


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's note: **_Oh boy. Real talk here, my updating schedule has been all kinds of terrible recently. Lots of things have happened in my life lately, the smallest of those things not being that I moved into a new house on the other side of my country. But now all the big things should be behind me. School starts for real next week, so that's going to be more work for me and less time to write this. It's awful and I was just getting into the big dramatic part of the story! O, woe is me. _

_I'll try to get a grip, though. I'm hoping that once I get my life back on the tracks, I can get back into updating twice a week again, but for now I'll set my goals at once a week. I hope I can handle that at least._

_Well, no time for prattle, got to get back into writing!_

* * *

Zha stared down at the message on her Omni-tool. It was shining bright yellow, staring right back at her. She had to open it. She knew she couldn't just leave it be, no matter how loud her mind was screaming in her ear to just delete the message without ever reading it.

It could be something important.

AI775 had remained silent at her side, watching closely. It's lack of words made the situation even worse. Zha had to look away from the platform and the message drew her eyes back again, shining almost painfully bright in the lowly lit ship.

Zha tapped the caption, fingers shaking so bad she had to fight to keep from choosing every other option instead of landing on the _Exchange._

It was a video message. Zha took another quick look at the geth that had moved closer to get a better view. It was frowning so deep she could barely see the lens of its eye under the plates. Licking her dry lips and trying to swallow down the feeling of trepidation climbing up her throat Zha opened the video.

The screen was black at first and Zha checked to make sure that the volume was loud enough to make sure that she would miss nothing. The picture flickered and suddenly a terrifyingly familiar smile greeted them. Those pearly whites were going to haunt Zha for the rest of her life.

"_Hello, dear,_" Sunei greeted pleasantly. She was dressed in the same pristine armor she had worn on _Gatla_, but her surroundings were different. Zha couldn't recognize any of it, but it wasn't like she could see much anyway. The asari was pretty much hogging the entire screen.

The skin around her prosthetic eye tightened. "_By now I hope you have noticed that something of yours is… missing. Misplaced, if you will. You must be displeased. Trust me, I understand, I understand wholeheartedly. But why not try to see things from my perspective, dear? You took what is ours, so we took what was yours. I think it's only fair._"

So smug. That smile was real, Zha could tell. Sunei was absolutely delighted to have caused Zha this much grief. The pure mirth in the asari's voice was making Zha sick to her stomach and her fingers curled into fists, wishing to punch her teeth in. At least then she wouldn't have to stomach seeing them again.

But Sunei wasn't done yet. She pulled back a little and lifted her hands up as if to surrender.

"_Now, not to worry, little friend, your crew is fine. They are in good hands, I can guarantee! In fact, we have them all right here!_"

The asari stepped aside and the camera turned to the right. And there they were. Zha's crew. Well, what remained of them anyway. It took a moment for the camera to focus, but Zha would have recognized those shapes anywhere. Lucky and VI-18 were leaning against each other, slumped over and offline. The crisp picture revealed some new marks, burnt plastic and metal, but otherwise the two of them looked just fine. Next to them was a round shape, looking to be ripped right out of Zha's ship. It might have been years since Zha had seen Scribble's intelligence core in person, but you could not forget something like that after spending countless hours working on it before installing it within the ship. She could see it had been removed forcefully, most likely in a hurry.

Zha scrambled to pause the video, looking around desperately. One mech was missing and she couldn't see it anywhere. VI-09. Granted, the bot was small and could be easy to miss, but surely they would have put it up on display had they had it with them.

VI-10 had taken out Sunei's eye. The two of them were nearly identical to an outsider's view. Surely the asari hadn't… She couldn't have…

Zha's eyes turned to VI-15's lifeless carcass inadvertently. She bit her teeth together and let the video continue.

A faraway voice spoke out somewhere outside the camera's view and it was clear that the words were addressed to Sunei. Zha turned the speaker as loud as the device would allow, but she couldn't make out the words. The next time Sunei spoke, her voice boomed frighteningly loud and Zha fumbled with the Omni-tool to go back to the normal levels.

Sunei stepped into the camera's view again, arms spread so wide they hid the sight of Zha's crew.

"_Oh, how terrible_," the blue alien said with faux sorrow. "_I just learned that there was a casualty during the capture. One of your mechs was terminated. How unfortunate. That was not supposed to happen._"

Yeah. Sunei was really selling this apology of hers. The smile pulling at her lips, threatening to break loose at any moment was really making Zha feel like the asari shared her plight. Zha's teeth were doing a good work trying to pulverize each other in her mouth.

"_Be assured, we are going to compensate for your loss later. That is, if you agree to our little proposition. Hear me out, dear, you won't want to miss this._"

The geth was standing so close Zha could feel its platform against her side every time she inhaled. Its expressions had curiously disappeared somewhere between the last time she had given the platform a look, the plates smoothed out against its head to hide all sorts of emotions. AI775's photoreceptor was staring down at the video feed, unflinching. When the asari started talking again, Zha was fast to turn her attention back on her Omni-tool.

"_It's a simple deal, I think. You have the geth. We want it. We have your crew. You want them. I say we make an exchange and all get what we want. I'll even pay for the member you lost. How generous is that?_"

The taste of acid was filling Zha's mouth, her tongue was pressed between her teeth. Very generous indeed. The asari was the patron saint of generosity, stealing her crew and then offering them back to her for a price. Zha felt like gagging, the emotions twisting in her stomach were making her physically ill and it was nothing like the usual fevers. Her jaw was aching from the strain.

On the screen, Sunei's eyes narrowed. Her voice dipped lower when she said: "_To be honest, I think it's more than you deserve, girl._" Zha could feel the displeasure rolling off the asari even through these electric means. "_You get these three and we get one geth. It's a steal. I would have been more than happy to shoot down your ship with the geth in it, but my employer insists on doing things the 'civil way', so you'd be smart to accept his offer._ _It's a one-time deal. If you won't show your pretty face in fourteen days, I'll personally tear up your mechs and come after you. So think carefully, why won't you?_"

Sunei pulled back from the camera, her smile returning back, lopsided and playful like she hadn't just threatened to hunt Zha down and kill her if she didn't do as she was told. Zha's insides were cold, her gut wrenching. But a handful of her crewmembers were still in one piece. There was still a chance…

The geth was yet to move. It was standing completely still, more like a statue than a synthetic being. From the corner of her eyes Zha spied it carefully, unsure what to expect out of it.

"_You already have the coordinates, assuming you didn't throw them away like a little idiot. But just in case you happened to, ah… misplace them, I will send them to you soon._" Sunei winked at the camera, her attempts at being witty leaving Zha cold. "_Come meet us here, give us the geth and we'll be even. My employer is paying me enough to let you walk, but if you don't show up…_" Her right eye flashed black, tongue tracing over her teeth. "_We'll be seeing each other again soon anyway. Go ahead, fight back. I'd love to see you try._"

The video ended, sound cutting off and the screen going black. Zha stared down at her wrist, unable to do much else while her brain was whirling a hundred miles a minute.

Her crew was still alive. Well, as alive as you could consider a bunch of mechs to be, but they were still functional and would be for the fourteen days promised. They were at Sunei's mercy, unable to defend themselves in their offline state, but the point was that _they were still alive._

Zha's wrenched the front of her suit in her fists, trying to regain some control, to keep herself from falling apart on the spot. Her crew. Her _crew_. She could think of nothing else.

They wanted the geth. They wanted the geth she had been travelling with for the past few months, the geth she had been getting to know. They wanted it.

Her brain was working in overdrive, the insides of her suit feeling both scalding and ice cold at the same time.

There was no way she would make the exchange, right? No way. She wasn't that cruel.

She looked at the only Ai left on her ship. AI775 was staring right back at her, expressionless. For some reason that look sent shivers down her spine. What was it thinking? She had no way of knowing. If the geth chose not to show its thought process on its face, Zha had no way of knowing what was going on in that processor of theirs.

Zha let out a groan of frustration and started pacing back and forth. She put on the video again, watching it from the start, hating every second Sunei spent on the screen, gloating with her faked glee and belittling words. Zha made her way to her bed and sank to sit down there, playing the message over and over again, trying to suck in every morsel of information in a vain hope that a secret solution would pop up in her head while she was watching the light reflecting from Sunei's perfect set of teeth.

On the fourth way through the video, it came back to her. The thought. She could not see VI-09 anywhere. And it started to bother her more and more on the fifth and sixth when she really squinted her eyes and tried to scour the tiny pixels on the screen in case the repair bot was hiding there. But no, it was nowhere to be seen. She could see three of her crewmates, Sunei spoke of three. And the asari had admitted to destroying one.

"Creator Zha'Ora."

She must have meant VI-15, since the mech had been left on display for Zha to find. Surely if they had destroyed VI-09, the asari would have mentioned that one as well? To rub it in her face that her associates had crushed the poor thing to bits. But there was no mention of the bot.

"Creator Zha'Ora," the geth said.

"H- hold on a moment," Zha mumbled.

If Sunei hadn't taken it and her pals hadn't broken it down, then there was still a chance that –

Zha gasped loudly, hands flying to her visor. The geth flinched back and chirped in question as she jumped up to her feet. Zha made a mad dash to the cargo hold, flying like a speeding bullet into the room where she had last seen the repair bot. She yanked the door open with such force that it hit against the wall with a loud bang. Rushing in, she started looking around, eyes flying from one stack of boxes to another, desperation fueling her actions.

There! On top of her medical supplements, VI-09 laid offline where it had shut down.

"Oh, niner," Zha cried out falling on her knees in front of the box. She picked the bot up carefully, holding in on the palms of her hands like a delicate flower. The bot started to stir in her hands, legs curling open so it could stand back up and turn to look at her with its tiny camera eyes. It clicked softly, looking up at her in wait for her commands.

VI-09 was okay. It was alright! Zha felt like she was going to collapse out of relief. At least one of her mechs was still here with her. She sobbed loudly and pressed her head against it, nearly squishing the poor thing in her need to cuddle it. Her little repair bot, her tiny mech friend. It was okay. She was never going to let it out of her sight again!

"I'm sorry, 09," she whimpered pulling back and looking at it all over. She ran her fingers over its little body as if to feel that it was really there. Her heart was beating loud and warm in her chest, filling her insides with a feeling of safety. She was so tired. This day had been just awful. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "The others… they… they're gone. While you were sleeping, Sunei…" Zha's words caught in her throat and she had to gather her thoughts for a moment before she could continue. "Sunei took them. I'm sorry, buddy. I promise she won't get her hands on you. Not as long as I live and breathe."

The bot didn't understand her. Of course it didn't. It had been programmed to repair, its understanding of language was limited to that. But just having the mech in her hands made Zha feel a lot better. At least one of her children was still here.

She needed to get the rest of them back. The decision settled somewhere around her heart, filling her with determination. There was no other choice, she needed to get them back! No way in hell was she going to leave them behind while she still had any strength left in her. They were her responsibility, her crew. Now that she knew they were relatively okay, Zha _had _to go after them.

Filling her lungs with air, she straightened up and turned to walk out of the cargo hold.

The geth was there. It was blocking her way to the rest of the ship.

"Query: What is the creator's plan?" it asked.

A heavy weight fell into Zha's stomach. If she wanted her mechs back, she didn't have much of a choice. The geth… she needed to give them the geth.

That… that wasn't…

"Step aside," she said slowly.

AI775's expression shifted, the plates moving upwards.

"No." Then it repeated: "Query: What is the creator's plan?"

"Step aside, now."

The expressions fell away.

"The creator plans to make the exchange," it said.

Zha's mouth tasted stale.

"I need to get back my crew."

"We refuse to go back to the Overseer. We will no longer be a part of the experiments."

The declaration made Zha feel sick all over again. She could only guess what sorts of horrors this Overseer guy had put the synthetic through. Her imagination wasn't even enough to let her picture what it had been like. Would she really be willing to force someone to go back into a life like that? Getting her crew out of Sunei's claws meant forcing the geth into their place.

No. She couldn't. She knew it.

But… But her crew. Zha's mouth was a thin line, her brows sinking into a frown.

"You don't understand," she ground out through her teeth. "I don't have a choice. They got Lucky, they've Scribble. VI-18 is there. I _don't have a choice!_"

"Incorrect," the geth argued. "Creator Zha'Ora has multiple choices. Making the exchange is a poor one. We do not wish to fight the creator." It was quiet for a beat, then said: "But we will if forced."

It was a threat. The geth was threatening her. Zha bit down on her tongue.

"You really think I would give you to them?" she asked, voice wavering with emotion. "You _really_ think I could do that?"

AI775 hesitated a little. But it did not move.

"I'm going to go after them," Zha declared. "With or without you. But if you honestly think I would ever be able to let them capture someone to do… whatever it is that they do, then you don't know me at all."

The geth shifted minutely, the platform's stance relaxing a little.

"We are relieved to hear that," it said. "But we will not allow creator Zha'Ora to go after the asari."

"What?" she asked. "No, you get out of my way right now. You're not in charge here, this is my ship. And if I want to take my ship and fly to meet them at those coordinates, then I'm damn well going to do that!"

"No," the geth said evenly. "The creator's emotions are going haywire due to the day's events. Once she regains composure, she will realize how faulty her plan is."

Confusion was starting to morph into anger as Zha moved VI-09 to stand on her shoulder. "So, what?" she demanded. "You're just going to keep me in the cargo hold until I change my mind? Is that it?"

She had meant it as a joke. A jibe to make the geth realize that she wasn't the one acting stupid here right now. But the honest and simple answer the synthetic gave made her blood run cold.

"Yes."

"Wh- ? No! You can't do that!" she argued.

"We are fully capable of restraining the creator if need be. We would ask for her to reconsider instead. Going to the coordinates provided without the intention of exchanging our platform will inevitably lead into creator Zha'Ora's death."

"I don't care!" Zha shouted. "Get out of my way!"

Zha was pretty sure she was not convincing the geth that she was thinking clearly right now, but in her state of mind she couldn't really think of anything else. She was starting to feel worry gnawing at her. Surely the geth couldn't be serious. It would step aside sooner or later and she would rather have it be right now.

But the platform didn't move. It was eerily expressionless, standing between Zha and her freedom. When she tried to move to squeeze past it anyway, the geth straightened up, easily towering over the quarian's short build. There was no way past it, Zha could not leave until it was ready with her.

The worry was starting to take bigger bites out of her.

"Step aside," she commanded simply.

"No."

"I'm not going to argue this, step aside right now so we can just get this over with."

"No."

Rage roared within Zha as she had to actively keep her hands down so that she wouldn't hurt her fists trying to pound some sense into this stubborn synthetic.

"You will get out of my way this instant or I swear by the Ancestors I will blast your processors into – "

AI775's voice was louder than usual when it spoke over her, effectively drowning her voice.

"Creator Zha'Ora is unable to carry out her threat. She is currently lacking any weaponry necessary and her battle-ready mechs are not present," it said.

"Shut up!" she shouted, ramming her hands against the platform. She pushed and shoved but the geth unit barely even flinched under her weight. She let out a desperate yell and head-butted the synthetic. It hurt her more than the geth.

"Please cease your attempts to move this unit," the geth said tonelessly.

Zha gave one last shove and when it did nothing to help her case she fell on her knees, sobbing.

"Please," she said. "Please move aside. I n- need to get them. I… I need to _save_ them. Scribble… Lucky… Step aside, please!"

For one blissful second she thought that maybe this was doing it. The platform's expression shifted, the plates flinched a little. But in the end it seemed that her tears were not worth shit. They were just as useful as her attempts to move AI775 by force.

The geth looked down at her unsympathetically.

"Letting the creator go after her mechs is unsafe. Creator Zha'Ora's possibility of survival would be minimal."

"I don't care!" Zha shouted. "They have my crew! They have my crew, you bosh'tet!"

"Creator Zha'Ora is able to build a new crew that exceeds the former group of mechs. This unit is willing to offer assistance if – "

Zha hit her palms against the floor, pain vibrating through her body as she did so. The ship echoed with the compact, the loud 'thunk' covering the sound of the geth.

"You don't understand!" she screamed. Her voice broke and she continued with a more subdued tone. "You don't… Why would…? No. No, why do I even bother?" Her voice was little more than a whisper now, tears rolling down her cheek. "You could never… No. Sure. I could build a new crew. I could make them VIs, I could make them AIs. I have the know-how. But they would _not_ be the same. And that's not enough. No matter how carefully I would try to replicate them… You don't understand. You just won't."

She looked up at the geth, or at least the blurry image of the platform she could see through her tears. Her speech could have been given to a deaf audience for all the good it did to her. Who was she kidding, trying to get an emotional response out of a geth anyway? It would do her no good.

But she just wanted to make the geth _hurt._ Wanted it to stop whatever this was that it was thinking it was doing.

"You know what?" she asked tonelessly, trying to emulate its monotone voice with hers. "For a good while I actually managed to fool myself that you might be able to understand. That maybe we were becoming, like friends or something. My mistake, am I right?"

The platform stared at her for a beat, then stepped back. Zha stood up, thinking that the geth had finally come to its senses and was going to let her out. But that wasn't what the AI had in mind. Not at all.

The door slammed shut. Right before her very eyes, the geth shut the door, leaving Zha and her one remaining mech alone in the cargo hold.

Zha stared at the door dumbfounded. Darkness had fallen into the cramped room and all she had to light her surroundings was her Omni-tool. The door had just… closed. Just like that. The geth had…? No, no, that couldn't be right.

A cold feeling crept at the bottom of her stomach and Zha reached for the door uncertainly. Surely she could just… open it back up? The geth wouldn't… it wouldn't just leave her locked up in her own ship, right?

The door was shut tightly. Zha gave it a gentle push, then a bit of a harder shove. Nothing. Her breath caught in her throat. The door wouldn't open! The geth had locked her into the cargo hold! She pulled back and rammed her full weight against it, proving nothing more than the fact that her ship was a sturdy build and a weak little quarian could do no damage to it.

What Zha intended to be an outraged cry was wrangled in her throat so badly that it came out as a frightened sob. Zha banged her fists against the door, shouting for the geth.

"Open this up!" she yelled "Don't play games with me, open this damn door, _right now!_"

For a moment she thought AI775 wasn't going to answer. She wasn't even sure if the unit was still close enough to even hear her. But after what felt like an eternity spent in echoing silence with nothing more than her own pants and sobs ringing in her ears, the geth's dull and uninterested voice answered to her.

"As an organic, creator Zha'Ora is incapable of making rational decisions while under the influence of her emotions," the platform spoke, its voice coming muffled through the metal door. "Therefore in the interest of keeping both our programs and creator Zha'Ora safe, we are taking control of this ship. The creator has no reason to worry. No harm will come to her while under our supervision. Creator Zha'Ora will be released either once she has regained control of her emotions or after the period of fourteen days given by the asari has come to pass."

"_What?_" Zha screeched, hitting her fists against the door. "No! Let me out, right now! You can't do this! Let me out, bosh'tet!"

But there was no answer. She didn't even know if the geth was still on the other side of the door. Zha screamed in rage, slamming against the door again, putting her might and rage into the hit. But since that wasn't really that much to begin with, the door remained stubbornly shut and all Zha gained from the experience was a sharp pain in her right shoulder and bruises she would never see. The way the ship had been built, when the cargo door was locked, it could only be opened from the other side. It had never seemed like a big problem to her, with a big group of mechs to make sure that if by some chance she got locked up, they would come and let her out within the same minute. But now, with only VI-09 on her shoulder, she was trapped.

The geth had trapped her and was in full control of her ship.

"I wish I hade left you to rot on that damn space station!" she screamed. "You hear me? I wish I'd never picked you up!"

But there was no response.


	39. Chapter 39

_ERROR! ERROR!_

_Critical malfunction detected_

_Searching for malfunction_

_Searching…_

_Searching…_

_No malfunction found, platform working at peak capacity_

Their whole platform was spasming, limbs acting up and junk data filling their processor without any physical reason. They lost their balance and were forced to lean against a wall to remain upright.

The creator was screaming profanities and they could hear it all the way to the cockpit where they had stumbled. The words were causing a stir within, some programs reacting far stronger than they had anticipated. It was hard to concentrate, they could not get their platform to work properly no matter how many times they tried to reign in the rogue programs filling their hive with unwanted information.

Things had not gone as they would have wanted. Not at all. Nothing about this was ideal. The message sent to creator Zha'Ora had caused an effect within them. Getting captured by the Overseer was not desired. They were not going to go back there. And when it had seemed like the creator was going to take the asari up on her offer to exchange the missing crew to their platform, they had acted without properly thinking it through.

Another spasm worked its way through their body, like a wave of electricity making the synthetic muscles of their remaining original leg tremble. Error signs flared all over their processor, warning them about all sorts of problems that they should not have had.

This was not good. They were losing control of their body and some weaker programs were already shutting down without their consensus. The Overseer programs were huddling silently in a corner, unable to comprehend what was happening.

This was ridiculous. They had worked for the common good of both their own safety and the creator's. This reaction was too extreme.

A clang and a row of muffled curses rang from the direction of the cargo hold and even though they could not make out the words, the noise was blown up to unnecessary volumes in their mind. The programs responsible for interpreting audio were purposefully making it worse, adding to the already bad situation.

This had never been their plan. They hadn't even had a plan to begin with. Everything had just happened so fast. One moment they feared the mere thought of being forced back into the experiments, the next creator Zha'Ora was basically telling them that she was suicidal and was going to go to the asari only to get killed. They had acted without thinking, they had acted based on a glitch in their processor and now they were suffering for it.

And they had blamed the creator for acting emotionally.

Now they needed to think. They needed to purge their system of these… glitches that were plaguing their hive mind. They needed to stop thinking about how they had ruined everything. How creator Zha'Ora would never trust them again.

_ERROR! ERROR!_

_Platform under attack!_

_Next course of action: Find the source of attack?_

_Abort! Information faulty_

_Platform not under attack_

The creator had said that she would not make the exchange, had said that if they thought she would, they did not know her at all. But now the situation had changed. Trust had been broken. And they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they could not let her out of the cargo hold, because she would gladly offer them to the Overseer now.

They could hear creator Zha'Ora yelling something unintelligible.

When would she tire?

_Warning!_

_Dangerous amounts of internal pressure building up inside the platform_

_Next course of action: - _

_Dismiss the warning, information faulty_

They had ruined everything.

_ERROR!_

No. They had chosen the most logical course of action. The creator had refused to listen to the voice of reason. She had acted dangerously. They had chosen the option that gave the both of them the best chances of survival and even if their decision had been made under the influence of what they could only assume to be emotions, it had been the correct one.

Yes. That was right. They had been right. This was the right thing to do. The creator would thank them once she had calmed down.

"_Let me out of here, you absolute piece of shit!_"

Their legs started to move on their own accord, trying to carry them to the cargo hold. The programs responsible of their walking had disconnected from the rest of the hive, acting against consensus.

The programs were going haywire. They were acting on their own accord, caring little about what was best for them and attempting to appease these glitches popping up as error signs. The hive had lost control. Every program was pulling at its own direction, with the Overseer's simpler creations caught in the middle, unable to process the data running through them.

They needed to regain composure. They needed to –

A loud bang that could only have been produced by the creator throwing something against the wall was blown out of proportions in their processor.

_Warning!_

_Virus detected!_

_Scanning for virus… _

_Scan complete_

_Error!_

Forming coherent thought was becoming impossible. There was no order, no self-control. Everything was out of control and there was nothing they could do but follow as everything fell into pieces within them.

One by one the programs were shutting down, going dark voluntarily. And soon the only programs still working were the Overseer's.

The platform lost its footing, the synthetic muscle giving out and the locking mechanism meant to keep them upright in situations like these failing. The crash their platform made when it connected to the floor was loud enough for the creator to hear and it made her quiet down.

For sixty-seven blissful minutes the ship was quiet. The creator had fallen silent, the programs had quieted down and only the ship's engines keeping them afloat were rumbling along. The Overseer's programs waited patiently, too simple to work the platform on their own, waiting for the more advanced programs to turn back on to make some sense out of this.

For sixty-seven minutes the geth programs remained shut. The platform lay just outside the cockpit on the floor, undignified and unguarded. But who was going to harm them now? They were in control of the ship. No one could hurt them, they were as safe as could be.

One by one the geth programs started turning back on. It was quiet in the processors, none of the programs daring to start the ruckus again.

After all, they were creations of logic. Causing another shutdown like that would do them no good.

They moved to stand up slowly, taking good measures to get them upright. Their fall had caused some external damage to their platform, but nothing that would stand out from their already battered state. Otherwise they were just fine.

They were not fine.

Nothing could be heard from the creator. Maybe she had burned out her energy. That would have been a blessing.

They knew that there was a camera system in the cargo hold, but it wasn't very likely for it to work with VI-02 (Scribble) gone. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was for the best if they stopped thinking about the creator altogether.

Yes. That was deemed to be the best possible action at the moment. Creator Zha'Ora had both food and drink with her in the cargo hold. She had her medicine there with her in case the worst was to happen. Basically she had all she needed for her continued existence there, including her last remaining mech. They could spare not to think about her for at least a few days and during that time they should decide what to do next.

They could not remain afloat in space without direction. It was not a sound plan. They could not wander around aimlessly either. The creator's resources would run out and then the ship would be free for the Overseer's hirelings' taking.

That was unacceptable. They _would not _go back. If they could, they would have rather self-destructed than be forced into the Overseer's hands. The mere thought of getting strapped onto an operating table again sent their programs into a frenzy. If the creator had been given the chance to take her ship to meet the asari Sunei, their platform would have most definitely been captured, whether that had been creator Zha'Ora's intention or not.

The ship hummed in silence, the engines idling as no destination had been set. The geth platform took residency in the cockpit, taking place next to the pilot's chair. Something about the lifeless air of the ship was adding up to the already decelerated speed of their thinking. There was something about the lack of voices filling the corridor outside that did not sit right with them.

No. It was irrelevant. It did not matter. They flushed their processor with filler noises, drowning out the vocal programs demanding that they release the creator and stop this foolishness this instant.

Thinking over their possibilities, they took longer than usual to come to a conclusion on what to do next. Almost half the geth programs were acting sluggish on what seemed to be like on purpose. But after 3,7 hours of thinking and going over every possibility they could think of, the answer that came to them was shockingly simple.

Go home.

The Overseer was cunning, he would go to great lengths to get his precious project back, but there were certain barriers that not even he would cross. The Perseus Veil separating the geth commune from the rest of the Galaxy served as enough of a hindrance for even the Overseer's thugs. It was the best, simplest solution to the problem at hand. They were in control of the ship, knew where to go. They would be safe. On Rannoch no mercenary could reach them. They could finally leave this broken platform and settle into a new one.

The creator would be shocked at first, of course. That was to be expected. They had to adjust to the idea that it would take a long time for her to forgive them on what had had to be done to ensure mutual safety, but in the end she would understand. She would be safe as well. And was it not every creator's wish to set foot in Rannoch again? Creator Zha'Ora would be the first and last.

No matter how many times they thought about it, they could not come up with any lasting negative effects on travelling beyond the Veil. All they needed to do now was to reach it by Mass Relay. A few jumps, then a little bit of flight to reach the Tikkun star system.

Setting up the coordinates to the former creator Homeworld, they concluded that including all the traversing in-between planets it would take them approximately three days to reach Rannoch. It would have been beneficial to get in contact with the geth to inform them of their approach, but with the Veil in place, they were going to have to wait until after they had made the last jump. They knew that if creator Zha'Ora rationed her supplies correctly, she would have food and drink with her for at least a week, more than enough to last her until then.

The creator would be grateful afterwards, once she'd had time to think about it.

Lying to yourself is an organic trait.

The thought was so sudden and out of left field that they could not even pinpoint where it had come from. It must have been one of the geth programs, no other explanation made sense, but none of the programs were admitting to it. But the thought certainly stirred more trouble, coaxing another wave of unruliness in their processor.

The whole weight of the programs tried to suffocate the thought, but it was like a stain in their mind, refusing to wash off.

It did not matter what the creator would or would not think of them. It did not! They were a creation of logic! A machine made to function for the purposes of protecting the commune. They had made a decision, and even if it had not been a favorable one, they would stand by it.

Settling down with this final decision they took their place next to the pilot's chair, preparing for the long flight ahead. To pass time, they uploaded several intriguing math problems from the Extranet to keep them busy while the ship traversed through the Galaxy.

The travel to the Tikkun system turned out to be a surprisingly uneventful one. The creator quieted down after the initial first hours of her capture, keeping to herself most of the way. They could hear her banging on the door a couple of times, but never did her voice reach as high notes as on the first day.

It did not stop rogue programs from causing trouble, though. Guilty thoughts, unnecessary information to bother their math calculations, those sorts of things. They tried to suppress the effects this caused with moderate success. Mostly they just shut off for hours at time to save them the trouble of thinking about it.

For the time it took them to reach Tikkun solar system, they did not leave the cockpit. They did not approach the cargo hold door and did not seek to initiate a conversation with the creator in fear of going against the consensus shoddily established.

They were afraid. They were afraid that if they would strike up a data exchange with creator Zha'Ora, she would somehow be able to talk them into letting her out. And they were not sure that they would have been able to recapture her if that were to happen.

So keeping their distance was a necessity.

The ship shuddered around them as the jump through the Mass Relay was brought to its end. Familiar space spread outside and the faraway sight of Rannoch and its sibling planets was sight they had not expected to see again.

This was good. This would be good. They moved to the controls, specifying the coordinates there to make the approach easier.

They should probably break the news to the creator at some point.

Programs started buzzing.

No. It was unnecessary. The creator would find out when they landed. Going there now was not required, not for a few hours at least.

Denial had a funny taste to it. They were not sure how to describe it.

But their feet were stuck to the ground, forcing them to remain unmoving.

The cargo hold was not a comfortable space to remain cramped in. They had not much cared for it, but as an organic, the creator's experience was bound to be different from theirs. They wondered how she was dealing with the nearly nonexistent light in the storage room.

The creator had not removed the remains of her fallen mechs from the cargo hold.

The realization hit like heavy weight pushing down their form. The creator was trapped in the cargo hold with her disabled mechs. The sight of them had caused her considerable amounts of grief before, hindering her performance and raising anxiety levels.

They should have removed the mechs before sealing the creator in. She had cared for them deeply to the point where she was unable to get rid of the useless scrap that they were now. They could not even replicate what it must feel like to spend long hours trapped in the presence of what remained of her crew. It served only as a constant reminder that the creator had failed and her creations were as good as gone.

They should have gotten rid of the mechs.

Irrelevant.

It did not matter.

It _should _not matter.

It did, though.

They had to wonder how the geth commune would react to creator Zha'Ora. To their knowledge, no creator had set foot on Rannoch since after the Morning War. Creator Zha'Ora would be the first in a long time. It could be problematic, that much was given and the geth might be reluctant to allow a creator in at first, but once the situation had been explained to them, there would most likely be no trouble. Creator Zha'Ora was an anomaly, she was interesting to them and therefore would be interesting to the others as well. Worth keeping around. She could even be made an asset. She had higher than average skills in building mechs and that insight could be used to the advantage of the geth. Organics had a different way of thinking and even if it sometimes seemed to them like it was far inferior to the straight and logical way of the geth, it had its upsides as well. It left room for things like innovation and inspiration. It was not something that would ever come easy to a geth.

The rest of the commune would surely understand that.

Right?

Doubts were starting to fill their processor. Tikkun was shining bright ahead and Rannoch was only a few hours away. Soon it would be too late to worry about it.

The creators _were _considered a big threat and even though creator Zha'Ora had stated that she held no interest in taking part in the activities of the Migrant Fleet anymore, she could still be seen as a spy or an infiltrator. They knew better by empirical evidence, but it might not be enough for the geth as a whole.

This was a worrying thought and had the programs buzzing. The others might not even give them enough time to explain. Or it might even be that their time spent separated and manipulated would make them unreliable source of intel to the rest of the geth. A creator was a creator and therefore not allowed on Rannoch.

But this was a fascinating case study of a single anomalous creator, she could be deemed interesting enough to let her stay.

They might want to experiment on her.

This thought worried them even more and a handful of the Overseer's programs started acting up, sending junk data at the thought of experimentations. They forced the programs to shut down and restart, leaving the man-made programs spinning in confusion.

Calculating the chances of creator Zha'Ora's survival was impossible, they did not have all the data required. Searching the Extranet had proved a pointless task as most data of the current state of the geth they could gather from there was speculation and frightened aliens arguing on chat boards about what should be done about the geth problem. There were no credible sources they could find and all they had to go on was guesswork. And that wasn't enough.

Surely they had no reason to worry. They would just have to explain things plain and clear, merge with the geth commune and share their gathered information with them. They would understand.

Speculation based on nearly non-existent data. Not the geth way.

They were standing in the cockpit, watching the navigation system taking the ship closer and closer to their destination. Rannoch was still nothing more than a blip in their visual range, but soon enough they would be able to communicate with the geth there.

They had been gone for such a long time. They couldn't imagine the geth commune changing much in their absence. Everything would be the same and they would be integrated back into the whole. They would be an inseparable and indistinguishable part of the whole, a building block for the good of the whole.

For some reason that thought did not sit with them well. They knew what was expected of them. Their platform would be taken apart, their programs moved into a new one. Maybe even separate ones.

They would not be _themselves_ anymore. They would not be _AI775._

No, that wasn't right. They had never been AI775, that was simply the number assigned to the platform their programs inhabited. There was no individual. Just geth. A consensus built on careful calculation and data gathered from different sources. Bodies built for temporary use, a hive to guide them all.

Geth were not individuals.

It was a fact. But that fact did not sit well with them either.

Rannoch was like a magnet drawing in their gaze. They could not turn away. Slowly the distance between the ship and the planet grew shorter and shorter.

It was a glitch in their system. It had to be, same as these so called emotions they thought they were feeling. All of that would be removed once they were brought back into the community. None of this would matter after being integrated back into the geth.

All of this would be gone.

They stared ahead, the lens of their photoreceptor zeroing in on Rannoch.

They couldn't do this.

Suddenly the ship rocked around them, something impacting with its mismatched build. The ship groaned at the collision, letting out sounds that worried them. But that was not their primary concern. That honor was given to the source of the impact.

A geth ship flew into view over creator Zha'Ora's ship, easily overshadowing the smaller ship with its sheer size. It was not a dreadnought, far from it, but could still lay waste to the creator's ship in one direct hit.

Not good. Warnings flared in their processor, but they were silenced for now.

The comm. link crackled loudly to warn them of an incoming message. The voice that spoke was easily recognizable as synthetically created speech for geth to use when communicating with organics.

"_Unidentified ship, you have entered geth space. State your purpose or be terminated._"

Ah. The geth must have thought this ship was under organic control. Of course. And they were not going to correct them on this mistake. Geth would protect their borders fiercely, but they were not looking for fights. They could still get out of this.

Organic speech was not their strongest suit and they would be the first to admit that. But spending time with creator Zha'Ora had its good sides. They knew how her dialect worked, knew that it was different from the geth way of speech and could apply it to their own purposes.

Now all they could hope for was that the ship's communication systems would distort their voice enough to make their synthetic speech sound unintentionally inorganic.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," they said, trying to emulate creator Zha'Ora's voice when she was scared or stressed. "I'm so sorry, I… I totally got lost and used the wrong Mass Relay. Please don't kill me, please."

The words felt foreign leaving their vocal processor. They could hear how they lacked the proper pitches needed to make their voice sound alive.

The comm. link crackled with quiet for five seconds before an answer and that time stretched like an eternity around their platform.

"_You will be escorted to the Mass Relay. Do not attempt any sudden movements. If your ship is detected here again, you will be terminated on sight. Understood?_"

"Yes. Yes thank you," they said, attempting to insert some stronger emotions into their speech, but failing at it rather horribly. At least the geth escorting them back to the Mass Relay did not seem to notice. Or maybe they did not care. It didn't matter, since the ship was in one piece, their platform and programs were still functional and the creator was alive and well.

They were brought to the Mass Relay and exited the system as swiftly as they could. The ship shuddered entering the Mass Effect jump, and they were gone.

They were feeling… odd. They had not felt like this before, not that they knew of it at least. They tried to scan this new feeling, but could not locate it any better than any of the emotions before. All they had to go on was what had caused this feeling.

They had left. They had had a chance to let the others know that they were not, in fact, an organic, but a geth platform in control of a non-geth ship. They would have been taken safely back to Rannoch where they would have been dismantled and joined back into the commune. Creator Zha'Ora would have either been allowed to stay, forced into experimentation or terminated on sight. All of this would have been over.

But they had chosen not to go there. They had chosen to leave.

And they did not think they could ever go back.

The feeling intensified. They did not find it… undesirable. It was curious.

Things like these, these… emotions… they were a glitch. They were not something that was supposed to be a part of geth programming. Yet there it was and they did not want to see it gone.

_Loading a memory file…_

They had talked about this with the creator before. They had stated how emotions were nothing but a hindrance. And the creator had told them that once they were a part of your life, existing without them felt unimaginable. They might have not have understood it back then, but now they thought that maybe they had more data on the matter.

Maybe they could justify this to themselves. They were an anomaly, just like the creator. Their anomalous behavior was showing at its strongest when away from the geth consensus. So in the interest of research, should they not continue experimenting on this glitch? Was that not for the best of the whole geth community? They certainly thought so.

The space was stretching out in front of them and behind, the ship flying at nearly unimaginable speeds across the Galaxy. They were free to do as they pleased, go where they wanted.

And they knew exactly where they wanted to be.

But that presented another problem. Where they wanted to be did not exactly want _them_ there.

The creator's stubborn streak was a frightening thing to behold, filling them with worry.

Maybe she had calmed down since the last time they spoke to her. Maybe she had regained some composure. She had had a few days to think about her decision. Maybe she had come to the conclusion that it was idiotic.

Unlikely. But it would not hurt to check on her. And if she had calmed down enough to have a conversation with, maybe she would even have some interesting insights about the situation they were in. She might know what to think of this new decision they had made.

Leaving the cockpit was easier under the false relief given by hopeful thinking. They made their way to the cargo hold door, eager to see if the creator truly had changed her mind. This whole holding her captive thing was completely unnecessary and if the creator would realize that, they could put an end to it. They knew that for organics, it was easy to create emotional bonds to those closest to them and creator Zha'Ora had cared deeply for her mechs. But they were not worth getting killed over and they hoped she had come to that conclusion on her own as well. She should realize that they were just trying to protect her. Maybe if she did, they would not feel as conflicted about this as they did.

The cargo hold door had a simple manual locking mechanism on the outside that needed to be opened by hand instead of using computerized electronic locks. The ship had a few doors with locking systems, each of them with different mechanisms since they were no doubt from different ships originally. But all of them had in common that they were terribly outdated by the ship standards of the day. They were rather primitive, even, but they had to admit that they had their uses. With manual locks, the doors could not be hacked using an Omni-tool, which in their situation was preferable. Whoever got locked on the other side would be trapped until someone else opened the latch mechanism.

They reached for the lock, pulling it open with one swift motion. The mechanism groaned loudly, filling the quiet ship with sudden noise that was so surprising after days of silence that the programs in control of their audio receivers failed to register it fully.

The door opened easily, rusty flakes falling to the ground like dirty snow. The inside of the room was dark, save for the bright orange glow of creator Zha'Ora's Omni-tool and its reflection on her visor. It looked like they had surprised her, she was staring up at them but they could not see her facial features behind the reflection on her helmet.

Creator Zha'Ora pulled away from the light, hissing softly and covering her face. She looked like she was trying to sink into the shadows, but it was a fruitless task and they were easily able to see her. In the confined space of the cargo hold there wasn't much room to hide in. The creator reached to turn off her Omni-tool and momentarily the room was completely dark. Their programs adapted easily, but they were quite certain that the creator had already forgotten how fast they were able to do so. They shone their headlights into her direction and creator Zha'Ora spat curses, doing her best to cover her eyes.

"What the hell do you want?" she rasped.

Her voice was hoarse, most likely from the lack of usage. They could detect hatred but also fatigue. They wondered if she had slept at all. Creator Zha'Ora did have a bad habit of losing sleep when stressed out.

"We have come to check if creator Zha'Ora has calmed down."

They tried to remain as neutral as they could. It did not seem to be enough to keep the creator from lashing out, though.

"Took your sweet time, didn't you?" she spat. The creator put down her arms and they could see the narrow slits of her eyes staring up at them in anger. "What happened? The ship collided with something, I heard. What did you do?"

They were not sure what to tell her. The truth would not work in their favor, they were certain. She was already angry with them, stretching her patience by telling her that they had visited geth space did not seem like such a good idea.

So instead they attempted to steer the conversation to another direction.

"It has come to our attention that the creator might have misjudged our actions. We wish to assure you that our intentions were only to help."

"Help?" she asked, clearly hurt by their words. She used a cardboard box as leverage to get on her feet. "You think this is helping me? Oh, you rusty-assed half-witted hunk of wires and scrap!" She was staggering slightly on her feet having spent most of her time in a sitting position by herself. She jabbed an accusatory finger against their chassis and they felt the need to flinch at her motion if only to respond correctly to her behavior. "You don't even know the meaning of the word!"

It appeared that days spent in isolation had not helped the creator to calm down. She was working herself up to another angry fit.

They did not want that. But they did not know what to do. They could not think of anything to say that would have made the situation any better. They were at their wit's end and there was nothing they could do.

"When I get out of here, I'm going to – "

"We apologize for the inconvenience," they cut in before the creator could say another word. They did not need to hear her empty threats. They only served to worsen the situation. "But since the creator is still unwilling to listen to the voice of reason, we are forced to close the door again and wait for the given fourteen days to pass before letting her out."

Creator Zha'Ora's eyes grew large behind her visor and she made a dash towards the door. They were easily able to catch her before she even made it to the doorstep. Forcing her back was harder than it should have been and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was fighting back with all she got, hissing and spitting angrily.

They did not like this. Something was stirring within them, another emotion they could not name and it was making it harder and harder to remember that this was for the creator's own good.

It didn't matter. As long as the _creator_ herself would survive, it could be ignored, no matter what they might have felt about it. Emotions were something that a multitude of different organic species had been able to live with for eons, they would simply have to learn to do the same and disregard them when they got in the way. All part of the experimentation.

They pushed the creator back, maybe a bit too harshly and her feet stumbled on the broken down pieces of VI-05. She fell against a half-empty pack of nutrient pastes. Creator Zha'Ora's eyes were burning bright and she got back on her feet quickly, spitting ugly words their way, clearly preparing to make another run for the door.

They did not plan to give her enough time to do so. Stepping back they closed the door between the creator and their platform, hearing her slam against it. The sound of the lock mechanism clicking shut echoed loudly in their audio receivers and it seemed like the programs in control of the devices were repeating the noise unnecessarily to make sure that every single program within the platform AI775 was aware of the finality of that sound.

The creator was not going to give up on this. This thing that they had done to her… it would change their relationship and there might be no way to go back to what had been before.

A feeling akin to the vacuum of space but within their platform was filling their processor. Programs were buzzing but they could not move, could not think clearly.

The Overseer programs had retreated deeper into their core, trying to get away from the disarray ruling their processor and they were not the only ones. Programs were shutting down in protest all around, the previous ruckus returning in full force, making it hard to keep control on the platform.

They could hear creator Zha'Ora kicking the door, slamming against it again, even though she already knew she would not be able to force it open. The sound was filling their senses, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than that.

They could hear the creator shouting, they could imagine her hitting her tiny fists at the door with little success.

What they couldn't see was creator Zha'Ora smiling a crooked smile, turning her Omni-tool back on behind the closed door.

What they did not see was VI-09 scurrying under the creator's bed.


	40. Chapter 40

On the very first day, Zha had honestly thought that the geth would change its mind. When the door had slammed before her face the first time, she had really, _really_ thought that if she shouted loud enough, the geth would come back, realize what a stupid move it had pulled and let her out. So she had been screaming until her voice broke, telling the AI to let her out, thinking that sooner or later it would work.

That had not happened, obviously. She probably should have known better. But it only dawned on her as the first day drew to its close, her regular sleeping hours approaching and no sign of the rust butt coming to get her out.

That was when the poisonous thoughts started. Nasty little things, snaking their way into her head. She should have seen this coming a mile away, they said. What had she been thinking? Had she really thought that she could live peacefully with a _geth_ on board? She could almost hear the Ancestors laughing at her for her idiocy. Looking back at the past of her entire species, the signs should have been there. And even so she had allowed the geth autonomy on her ship.

Zha couldn't really blame anyone else but herself.

Well, now she was smarter. And there was no chance in hell that she would be making the same mistake twice. Zha smiled grimly to herself, leaning against the cardboard boxes. AI775 had made a serious miscalculation when it had opened the door. It would not know what hit it. She pulled out her Omni-tool and tapped on it.

"Alright, Niner. Time to get to work," she spoke into the device. "Please turn on your camera so I can give you directions."

A small screen came alive on her Omni-tool, showing a grainy picture of the underside of Zha's bed.

When it had become clear that the geth was not going to budge, Zha had been forced to act. Her time was limited, fourteen days might have felt like a very long time to get things done, but she was not going to wait that long. All but one of her mechs had been taken from her. It had almost been enough to make her give up. But she was not entirely alone. Zha had still had VI-09 with her.

09 had never been fit for combat. It hadn't been designed for that purpose and therefore the idea that Zha might have to rely on her repair bot to get her out of a sticky situation had never even occurred to her. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Zha had concluded that the geth couldn't keep her trapped forever. Sooner or later it would come to check on her, to see if she was still alive and kicking. And she would have to take advantage of that chance. Either she could try to attack the platform – a terrible idea, Zha knew – or she could try and use the one thing she was good at instead.

Building stuff.

And that was where VI-09 came into the picture. She couldn't expect the door to remain open for more than a few seconds and that was all it would take for the tiny bot to get out. Zha herself could easily provide a distraction for the geth while the little spider got out, but that wasn't the problem. It was what would happen next that worried Zha.

Her little mech companion was not intelligent. Once it got out, it would not know what to do and most likely either attempt to find something to fix or shut down somewhere safe. And that was not what Zha wanted out of it. She could give it simple orders, of course, like telling it to let her out of her cell. But she could not see that ending well. VI-09 was not intelligent enough to work stealthily, so it would have most likely just drawn the geth's attention unintentionally, failing the mission even before it could properly get started. The mech was far from an AI.

So VI-09 needed a little bit of modifying. It needed to be able to hear Zha's voice for detailed instructions. And if there was one thing Zha excelled at, it was building and modding mechs.

AI775 had not thought things through when it had locked her up in the storage where she was surrounded by useful tech that could easily be recycled to improve her little spider friend.

She was going to make the geth regret ever going against her and her crew.

Zha had spent the second day and most of the third hard at work, pulling apart broken mechs and getting the parts needed to make the modifications for VI-09. She'd started by connecting her little Niner to her Omni-tool so that she could be in direct contact with the mech, giving orders when needed. Taking apart 05's head, she had removed the camera system that had worked as the big guy's eye and connected it onto Niner so it could in turn work as her eyes while the bot scuttled along. She had also tweaked the small bot's intelligence a little. Out of all the tinkering, that had taken the longest, since it was not easy to rewrite most of a mechanical being's programming to accommodate for the more complicated tasks it was going to have to perform. VI-09's adaptive learning skills made it a little easier than starting completely from a scratch, but had she had more time, Zha knew she could have done a much better job.

With the added intelligence and the heavy weight of the camera system, Zha had been forced to also upgrade Niner's body a little. The small size was ideal for being stealthy, but it would do her no favors if VI-09 was unable to move properly under the weight of the new additions. So Zha needed to add to the bot's size, bulking the little guy a bit. It was a crude build at best, she hadn't known how much time she would have, so she had just worked as fast as she could to get 09 operational in time. Getting caught simply wasn't an option to her. But Zha did what she could with the limitations of the confined space she was stuck in. Where before VI-09 had snuggly fit to the palm of her hand, it was now about the size of a pyjak, but with six legs of course. Harder to hide from the careful eye, but necessary for the type of build Zha had designed for it.

And the geth had played to her plan almost too easily. It had come to see her just as she'd hoped and while she'd tried to argue with it to maybe resolve this in a bit more civilized way, Niner had snuck out through the open door and hid under her bed.

It had been easy. Almost too easy. A part of her was telling Zha that this was not going to work and somehow the geth must have been aware of the little bot's exit, the venomous words of doubt trying to make things harder for her. But now was not the time for doubt.

This was most likely going to be her only chance. It was now or never.

The image the camera system was sending to her Omni-tool was grainy, pixelated and had some lag to it. The camera had been damaged pretty bad when 05's head had been shot off and thrown around, but it was still the best solution at hand, even if the lens was cracked. Zha knew her ship like the back of her hand, she would not need HD-visuals to know where everything was. She could work with this.

"Alright," she muttered. "Where's that little rust bucket right now? Can you see the it, Niner?"

VI-09 still wasn't capable of speech and Zha would have needed a lot more time and a much bigger bot to incorporate that kind of abilities to the trusty little guy, but a quick little tweak into 09's system enabled the bot to send out simple responses in code to her Omni-tool. It was easy to translate with just a little bit of know-how.

_no, _VI-09 answered.

"Okay. That's good. That's good." Zha licked her dry lips and scuttled closer to the door. "Now move to the edge of the bed. See if you can spot the geth. If not, make your way to the kitchen and wait for further instructions."

The bot waited for a moment, the orders slowly sinking in, before moving out. Zha couldn't hear a thing, but her mind was feeding in terribly loud clanking noises that she imagined VI-09 making as it moved around. She was staring at the screen like a hawk, expecting the geth to come and see what the source of the commotion was any minute now. But it never showed up.

Zha's heart was beating in her throat when VI-09 entered the kitchen. It was a little sprint's distance away from the cargo hold door, but she couldn't just have Niner come there to help her out. The loud door would draw the geth platform's attention before she could even make it outside. What they needed was a distraction of some sort, something to slow the geth down.

VI-09 looked around, moving awkwardly on its uneven new legs. Zha told it to scan the area so that she could get a better look at their situation, her brain trying to work out something, anything to help her out. That was when she noticed a misplaced loose bolt on the floor near the wall.

An idea started to formulate in her head.

Zha's ship had been handed down to her from her father, and Fha's father before him. No one knew what type of a ship it had been originally. Over the years it had been upgraded by adding in parts from all sorts of different ships, creating a beautiful chaos of mismatched brilliance that by some miracle was perfectly capable of flight between star systems. Not everything worked all the time, though, and the ship had its kinks you needed to know. The doors, for example, were an assortment of problems you needed to know to watch out for. The airlock worked just fine, it was an important part that could make a difference between life and floating in space, so a lot of credits had been put to making sure it would not fail mid flight or capture the passengers inside. The cargo door was fine as well, if you didn't get locked on the wrong side of it, but the true trouble cases were the cockpit and kitchen doors. They had always been a big pain in Zha's ass and she had thought about fixing them or just plain removing them all together for years, but had never gotten into actually doing it. But the problem with these doors was that even though they could be easily shut, opening them up was a whole different matter.

She could remember one time in the early days when VI-04 had gotten trapped in the kitchen. The door had slammed shut after it and it had taken all three of her strongest mechs at the time to pry it open. Afterwards she had installed it with an opening mechanism that could force the door open, but just like the locking mechanism to the cargo hold, it could only be accessed from the outside.

In a way, her ship was a big trap waiting to spring on unsuspecting passengers. It had never really bothered her before, but now it could be used to her advantage.

"Okay, Niner," she said, drawing in the little mech's attention. "Grab that bolt from the floor. Take it out of the kitchen and throw it back in. Try to make the bolt hit something. I want it to make a sound, okay? Then go back under the bed to hide. Got that?"

It was genius. Diabolical even. Zha was feeling a little bit sick to her stomach and she wasn't sure if it was because of the excitement or fear. She watched as VI-09 grabbed the bolt easily with its claws and scuttled out of the kitchen. It took the mech a moment to calculate how to throw the little piece of metal the best since it hadn't exactly been built for such a movement. Its claws did not have the right angles to make a throw easy, so in the end the mech spun around on its feet, gathering momentum before letting go of the bolt. The picture on Zha's Omni-tool was blurry as VI-09 hurried back under the bed to wait what would happen next.

Zha held her breath, leaning in closer as if that was going to make it easier to see if the geth would take the bait or not. The grainy picture was showing so little, it was hard to tell what was going on.

She waited for what felt like an eternity. But there was no sign of the geth.

Biting her teeth together, Zha tried to think. What was the matter? Had it not heard the noise? She had no way of hearing how loud of a noise the bolt had actually made when hitting the floor. Had it not been enough to reach over the engine's humming? Maybe. Or maybe the geth knew something was up and was waiting for Zha to reveal her hand!

Zha's breath was starting to fog up her visor again and for a moment the screen became impossible to see. She had to force her breathing to calm in her wait for the dampness to evaporate. So the first plan hadn't worked. So what? The idea was still good, trapping to geth so that 09 could help her out instead. She just needed to think about this for a moment.

VI-09 sent a bunch of data into her Omni-tool, data she couldn't read. She could see a pattern of a query there, but it was too complicated for her to make sense of it.

"Give me… give me a sec, okay. I need to think for a moment. Just… hold on," she muttered.

If the bolt hadn't made a loud enough noise, then maybe she should try throwing something bigger. Yeah, that should do the trick. There was no need to throw this plan to the bin just because it hadn't succeeded the first time.

Yeah. It was better than just sitting on her ass and doing nothing.

"See if the coast is clear. If you can't see the geth, try to find something bigger to throw. Like a… like a wrench or something. Something that'll clatter loudly when hitting against the floor."

Niner moved out of its hiding spot again, slowly advancing out into the open. Looking around, it was good to see that the geth hadn't decided to clean up the corridor while the captain was gone, everything was where Zha had left it. VI-09 scuttled to the toolbox, eyeing the things inside for a moment. Then, without further prompting it lifted up the whole box and started to carry it towards the kitchen.

Zha's heart was beating like a drum, painfully pulsing in her chest in a manner that probably wouldn't be safe for her health in the long run. If VI-09 dropped the box prematurely, it would create a bigger ruckus than they needed. The noise needed to come from the kitchen or the plan wouldn't work. Zha's brow was sweaty and it bothered her beyond measure that she could not reach to wipe it clean. The droplets of sweat were threatening to make it into her eyes, blurring the image even more.

By some grace of the Ancestors the bot made it into the kitchen without any incident. Maybe the world was on her side for once, who knew. Back in the small room VI-09 proceeded to knock over the whole thing, tools and pieces of scrap spreading all over the floor.

Zha could almost swear the sound carried all the way to her makeshift cell, it was so loud. Maybe it was just her imagination. It didn't matter. The deed had been done and now all she could do was pray the Ancestors for a little bit of mercy.

"Get out of there! Back under the bed!" Zha shouted frantically and the bot did as ordered, moving as fast as it could with its disproportionate body.

For a few seconds, there was nothing. The picture wavered as the camera struggled to record everything that was going on in its line of vision. But then Zha could see a pair of legs passing the bed. It had worked. It had actually worked! Zha watched with trepidation as the geth walked past, its steps never faltering as it passed Niner's hiding spot. That was a good sign, it didn't know VI-09 was at large. Zha gnawed on her lips, waiting with a baited breath.

The geth stopped at the kitchen door. VI-09 leaned out from its hiding place to get a better view. The platform was just standing there, staring in through the door but not stepping in. It was inspecting the toolbox from a distance. Zha cursed the entire existence of the geth race into the deepest pits of hell, trying to think of some creative new names to call the synthetic bane of her existence.

"Just get in the damn kitchen!" she muttered. "Get in, get in, _get in!_"

From the grainy screen Zha could see the geth peering in, leaning closer to inspect the kitchen from the safe side of the corridor. Zha's hands were sweaty with the strain she was putting on them.

After what felt like an eternity the geth finally stepped in and by the looks of it started to gather the tools back into the box. Zha nearly screamed in joy.

"Shut the door! Shut the door!" she whispered, too afraid to raise her voice as if it was going to carry to the geth's audio receivers.

VI-09 scurried from under the bed, making its way towards the sliding door to the kitchen. It was throwing all caution to the wind like a little idiot, trying to be fast instead of sneaky.

And the geth heard it. It stopped picking up the tools and turned to look at the mech. Its expressive plates formed a frown and it stood up.

VI-09 skidded to a stop near the wall, using dents in it to climb to reach the control panel to the door. Slamming its tiny claws into the panel, it shut the door.

This time she was sure. Zha could hear the heavy clang of the door all the way to her cell. She felt like laughing. Her insides felt squishy, stress leaving her body in a rush, leaving behind nothing but jelly and bones like boiled noodles.

_warning, _VI-09 said.

Zha looked at the screen to see what the bot was trying to tell. A cold weight set into her stomach. The geth wasn't completely in the kitchen and the door wasn't closed all the way. It seemed like the AI had managed to put an arm in the way just as the door had been sliding shut, leaving the door jammed with the platform AI775's right arm halfway out stuck in the gap between the wall and the door.

Think fast, Zha's thoughts were saying, think fast! But she couldn't think of anything other than that.

"Get here, Niner! Let me out before it gets out!"

The camera's footage became a blur after that as the bot ran to the cargo door. Pressing her helmet against the door from her side, Zha could hear its legs clicking against the metallic surface. The bot managed to reach the lock system with ease and with a few quick tugs the hatch slid open and Zha burst out through the door. It slammed against the wall, reverberating loudly over the sounds of the engine.

Zha ran to the kitchen door to get a good view of the seriousness of the problem only to realize that… there really wasn't one to begin with.

The geth was stuck in the doorway between the frame and the door itself, its right hand caught and creating a small gap through which Zha could see into the kitchen. The platform was struggling to force the door back open using its arm as leverage, but the stubborn old thing wouldn't move an inch. AI775 was not getting out any time soon and with the awkward angle of the arm, it couldn't even reach the control panel.

It was trapped. It wasn't getting out of there. Even if this wasn't exactly what Zha had had in mind, it was over now.

Her legs nearly gave out under her as she crumpled down. Her heart was still beating like it wanted to rip free from her chest, but she couldn't help but laugh. Relief washed over her body, leaving her just so damn tired. She had probably slept like five hours total for the past three days and she was starting to feel the repercussions.

But it didn't matter! She was out. She was back in control of her ship.

It as over.

She was laughing with the desperation of a really tired quarian, almost crying.

The geth stopped struggling and angled its platform so that it could see through the small gap between the door and the wall. Zha stared right back at it, her giggles dying down into wheezes.

"Please release this platform," AI775 said.

Zha started laughing even harder, doubling over and cradling her middle. It was starting to hurt, but she couldn't stop.

"Really?" she panted. "Freaking _really?_ After what you pulled? You want me to let you out? Get real!"

The geth was silent for a carefully calculated moment.

"The creator's capture was done for her own safety. We were simply trying to protect her."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for that kind of protection, thank you very much," Zha said and shook her head. Pushing against the floor with her hands, she got back to her feet. Everything felt so wobbly. She needed to sleep for an hour or twelve. "This is my ship. My decisions to make!"

"The creator didn't – "

"Don't you dare patronize me, you little shit!" she shouted, poking the platform's protruding arm with a finger. "You locked me up!"

She could hear the whirring of the geth's expressive plates, but couldn't see what expression it was choosing to portray.

"The creator has also held this platform prisoner in the cargo hold," it said infuriatingly calmly.

"That was a completely different thing!" Zha said. "And that was like… a long time ago! Things were different. I thought we were… No, you know what? It doesn't matter. Should have known better, right? Should have known that a quarian can't be friends with geth, right?"

The geth didn't seem to have anything to say to this, surprisingly. Zha huffed in exhaustion and crossed her arms. This was just great. She was in way too good mood after escaping her predicament to waste her time arguing the geth. She waved for VI-09 to follow her into the cockpit.

"Let's see now," she muttered to herself. "We still have… what… ten days to meet up with Sunei. More than enough time to get there."

She inspected the navigation computers to see where they were currently. She couldn't recognize the place, some solar system or another, nothing important it would seem. But looking at the marker for her gas tank told her that the geth had been doing quite a bit of travelling in her absence. Where to, she didn't know and she wasn't sure if she wanted to find out. She would have to fill the tank to make it to the coordinates. That was going to cost her some money, but that was another time's worry.

Zha fell to sit on the pilot's chair. Her eyes were heavy and she would have loved to do nothing more than just take a little nap. She was not built for all of this stress. She doubted anyone was, really.

All of this had started after she'd brought that stupid geth platform to her ship. Sure, her life had had its scary moments before, sometimes she had to deal with thugs and space pirates, but never had it been to this capacity. Danger was lurking behind every corner, it seemed. Wherever she went, problems were just following after her.

Maybe she should consider getting rid of the damn thing altogether. It was causing her more trouble than was worth.

Zha ground her teeth together as she fed the coordinates Sunei had given her to the navigation system.

It had just locked her up for three days.

She owed the thing nothing.


	41. Chapter 41

The geth was staring at her. Zha could almost feel the synthetic creature's glare burrowing through her suit and into the flesh and bones beneath. It was staring at her with its unblinking photoreceptor and judging her in silence.

It was surprising, really, how quiet the geth had been after getting captured. Zha wasn't sure exactly what she had been expecting, probably some droned speeches about how she was making a big mistake and that this wasn't "logical" or some other crap like that. But no. AI775 was as silent as a grave and never stopped staring.

Zha sat on her bed, staring at the floor just so she would not have to look at the synthetic. VI-09 was sitting next to her on top of her blanket, the fabric clinging onto the sharp edges of its new and improved body. Zha had made sure to keep her little helper close by at all times just in case. She wasn't sure what she was so afraid was going to happen, but there was a constant pressure of worry in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she thought the geth would somehow manage to free itself and try to do… something. Or maybe by some twisted asari magic Sunei would be hiding under her bed and the moment Zha would close her eyes, she would pull the poor defenseless quarian under there and out of existence. Whatever it was, Zha was keeping a close eye on her little Niner, her only source of security.

It would be a few days travel to the coordinates. Not that long, she had plenty of time to make it there. Before that Zha needed to find a fuel depot to fill her tanks for one last time. She still had an abundance of time, but to be honest, she just wanted to be done with this. Just a quick trip to the asari to get back her crew. It would take like, three days tops.

There was just one problem.

Zha lifted her head slightly. She could see the geth staring at her wordlessly through the gap. Her head fell down again and she balled her fists.

The decision should have been clear. Take the geth there and get what's yours. It had betrayed her first, locking her up in her own cargo hold. It was the most basic AI horror story, the maniacal machine taking control of everything and forcing the organics to their knees. There was no way Zha would have been able to trust that thing after something like that.

So no, she didn't owe anything to this geth. If she wanted to make the exchange, then she damn well should.

But that was the problem. She didn't want to. She couldn't, she knew she couldn't. The mere idea made her sick to her stomach, like something alive was twisting in her gut and Zha knew that she didn't have it in her to force the geth back into what it had described as something horrible. Hell, she hadn't been able to take it to the Migrant Fleet when she had barely even exchanged a word with it. There was no way after travelling with it for this long she could just throw it to slaughter.

Zha's jaw was aching from the strain she was putting on it. Her insides were already feeling queasy, every moment spent sitting around doing nothing amplifying the feeling tenfold. She felt like she was supposed to be doing something, but with the ship going at its top speed, there wasn't much more she _could_ do.

She needed to get to the coordinates, she needed to… needed to…

What was the point? If she was not going to give them the geth, then what was the point of going there at all? The poisonous thoughts started circling in her head again, trying to force their doubt down her throat.

There was no point. It was suicidal! There was nothing she could do. Even if she was lucky enough to face just Sunei alone, the asari would wipe the floors with her. But Sunei was not going to be alone. There'd no doubt be mercs there to help the blue alien out in murdelizing Zha. If it came to blows, the fight wouldn't last longer than a few seconds.

Zha already knew this. She knew this was hopeless. Her eyes were stinging and her nose felt warmer than usual. She couldn't see any other solution. There was nothing she could do but go there and go down with her crew. Zha would go there and tell that there would be no deal and Sunei would kill her.

This was how she was going to die.

She couldn't have stopped the sob from escaping even if she tried.

She could hear the mechanical whirring of the geth's expressive plates. The platform was moving, yanking at its arm to get a better view of her. Maybe it enjoyed seeing her in agony. She wouldn't have been surprised. Zha bit her teeth together, killing the cries with sheer force of will.

Something bumped against her leg. Zha flinched involuntarily, a gurgled yelp slipping past her lips. She looked down to see VI-09 poking at her with its leg, camera aimed at her face.

Zha gave the mech a watery little smile. Poor little thing. Her additions to its new body were such a mess. A total rush job and looked like it too. She picked the mech up, still able to carry it even though some weight had been added.

"Look at you, little baby," she said to it. "All battered and wonky. I'm sorry, Niner. I promise I can do better. Let's see if we can fix you up before… before…"

The thought slithered into her mind, unwelcome and unwarranted. If she was going to go to meet Sunei, she was not only dooming herself, but her last remaining free crewmember as well. VI-09 wasn't smart enough to make it on its own and there was no place she could have left the little thing to be by itself when she would go to face the terrifying asari. And if she took it with her, Niner would end scrapped with the rest of them.

That was not good. She was not going to allow that!

Zha was going to have to think this through again.

But for now, she had a few days to pass and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Modify VI-09 to the best of her ability.

She gave a quick glance at the kitchen door, where AI775 was still dead set on staring her into oblivion. She could hear it changing its expressions, the sneaky little bastard. It was planning something, for sure. Trying to get her to break. But she was not going to! She was going to work on Niner to pass the time while she plotted how to get away from this with as little casualties as possible.

Too bad most of her good tools were now in the kitchen, beyond her reach.

Zha ground her teeth together. No matter. She still had her b-quality tools in the cargo hold. She'd used them to get 09 to where it was now, she could make improvements with them as well! The work wouldn't be as stellar as it could have been, but it would still be an enhancement to VI-09's current state.

The geth's stare was making her highly uncomfortable, though. The corridor _was_ the second best area in her ship to work in and since the kitchen was… occupied… at the moment, Zha didn't have much of a choice. She shot a dirty glance at the platform's way before turning her back to it and sitting on the ground.

"Come along, Niner," she muttered, waving for the mech to take a seat in front of her. "Let's get started on you, yeah?"

It was awful how fast two days could pass when you have no plans for the future. Zha was a few hours away from the coordinates when it really hit her that she was clueless on what would happen next.

She had stopped at a fuel depot in the last solar system she had arrived in through a Mass Relay before continuing forward. The coordinates took her out of that system, away from the civilization and between two smaller solar systems where the suns were far out of reach and barely distinct in the sea of other stars. Zha was sitting in the cockpit, swinging her legs in thought, fearing what was about to happen.

The good news was that on the last moment she had come up with a battle plan. The bad news was that she wasn't really that sure how it was going to play out. If things turned out okay, her ship and Niner would get out of this without another scratch. The geth would be free to go as well. But if things took a turn, as was often the case with her life, they could all end up killed before the day was over.

But it was too late to turn back now. The final destination was only a few hours away and Zha needed to get ready.

She'd managed to work VI-09's body into a pretty presentable state. The mech didn't look factory made, of course, but at least now its legs were of the same height and it did not look like it was going to fall to pieces from a little shove. She had continued keeping the little rascal close by, feeling safer with the little mechanical companion climbing to sit on her shoulder, ticking and clicking wherever it went. Currently it was sitting on Zha's lap, shut off and preserving its energy. Feeling its weight on her legs filled Zha with confidence she shouldn't have had.

It was time to go over the plan. Zha squared her shoulders.

"Wakey, wakey," she said, nudging the bot softly. "Come on, Niner. I've got your new orders."

VI-09's legs curled open, using the fabric of Zha's suit as leverage as it moved to stand upright. Its tiny camera eyes buzzed in a high-pitch note as they zeroed in on her face. Zha picked the bot up, carrying it out of the cockpit and into the corridor leading into the cargo hold.

"Okay, here's the plan," she said as she passed the kitchen with barely a glance at AI775. "We're going to be arriving at the coordinates soon enough and… ah… I'm not sure what to expect. The map says there aren't any systems there, no planets, no moons. Could be an asteroid maybe but… I think it's going to be a ship of some sort. But I don't really know. So the current plan is that I'm going to connect to their ship and get on board. Before I do that, though I will leave the coordinates to another star system on the ship. The moment I get out, the ship is going to leave and I need you to make sure that it happens. Can you do that?"

VI-09 looked up at her motionlessly, staring with its unfeeling eyes. Zha sighed and put the bot down. She rubbed the sides of her visor when she stepped into the cargo hold. There she found the few remaining weapons on her ship, two crappy pistols, an assault riffle and a discount shotgun. She still didn't know how to use any of them properly, but maybe if she carried one of them with her, she might shoot the foot of someone else for a change. Maybe this was the day it was going to happen.

What was she going to do? Of course Niner couldn't do anything that complicated. Taking care of a whole ship was far beyond its capabilities. Once the ship would reach its next destination, the bot wouldn't be able to do anything. It simply didn't have the know-how and there wasn't enough time to make Niner self-aware enough to start thinking for itself. The ship would just end up floating in the big empty nothingness without someone to guide it. And then Sunei would be able to find it, catch it, trash it and get both the geth and her last remaining mech anyway.

This wasn't going to work.

Zha bit her teeth together. Well screw that. She didn't have much of a choice in this matter anyway. She was going to go to her crew and that was final. She reached down to grab one of the pistols, holding it like she was pretty sure they were supposed to be held. Turning around on her heels, she walked out of the cargo hold, waving for Niner to follow.

"Okay, scratch that," she said. "New plan. Once I'm off the ship and you're leaving the system, I want you to go to the kitchen door and hit the release switch. I want you to free the geth. Can you do that?"

Two things happened at once. Niner clicked its mandibles signaling that the orders had been received and understood, but the geth reacted as well. Zha hadn't even realized it was within the earshot, a silly mistake. The platform let out a chirping sound, something she had come to associate with confusion. From her angle she could only see the platform's arm protruding from the doorway, but she could see it moving as the geth tried to move to get her in its sights.

Great. Well, it didn't matter if the geth had heard that or not. It would change nothing. Once she was off this ship and the old rust bucket had flown away from the asari's reach, VI-09 would be safe and sound. Geth were not petty creations. She doubted that once released, AI775 would harm little Niner if the mech just stayed out of its way.

It was the best solution she could think of. Everybody would be happy.

Except, apparently that was not the case.

"Creator Zha'Ora."

Oh. So now the geth wanted to talk. After keeping its mouth shut for the past few days, now this moron wanted to have a chat? It was a bit too late for that, Zha thought. Soon enough she would be getting off and getting killed and that ungrateful rust butt would be flying to safety.

"Creator Zha'Ora, we wish to speak with you."

"Oh yeah?" she said, her voice far higher than she would have liked. "Well maybe I don't want to speak with you. What do you think of that?"

AI775 thought about this for a moment, taking the question far too seriously.

"We think that the creator is lying. If she did not wish to speak with us, she would not have answered."

Zha bared her teeth and marched to the kitchen door just so she could glare the platform in the eye.

"Well maybe this creator knows that you would not stop calling my name if I didn't answer," she hissed, leaning in closer while still keeping a careful distance from the arm. How far could it reach? She wasn't sure, but she wasn't taking chances this close to the goal.

"We heard the creator's plan. We do not understand."

Zha crossed her arms and leaned back. "What's there to understand? We all get what we want. You get to go ahead and do whatever, I get to go to my crew. It's pretty simple to me."

The geth thought about this for a moment. She could see its expressive plates moving around like they did when it was processing something.

"The creator is trying to fool us," it said.

"What?" Zha asked. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"To make the exchange easier," the geth droned. "To gain our trust. There is no point in going to the coordinates without our platform. Creator Zha'Ora is trying to lie to us so that we would be compliant."

Zha's insides were twisting. What the geth said made sense to her. A small part of her wanted to agree, to change the plan and just be done with it.

"You really think that little of me, huh?" she said quietly. "No matter what I say or do, you're just going to think that I'm going to go through with it. You must have a pretty pessimistic worldview, then. Must be part of your programming."

The geth said nothing and maybe it was better that way. Zha drew in a breath through her nose, filling her lungs with air.

"I'm not going to make the exchange. I can't. I won't. And… it doesn't matter what you think of that. What could I even do to make you think any different? You were so certain that I was going to give you up to them that you locked me up. Nothing I say will make you change your mind and vice versa." She looked away, arms crossed and fists balled tightly. "So let's just cut this crap and leave it at that. In a few hours the ship is yours. What you do with it is up to you."

By the movement the geth's plates were doing, it was still thinking. A bitter smile stretched Zha's lips, a sick feeling coiling in her stomach.

"We do not understand," AI775 said finally.

"You don't have to."

"It is not – "

"Don't you dare say logical!" Zha barked.

The geth was silent for a beat, then finished lamely: " – smart."

"Yeah," Zha said silently and looked at her boots. "I guess it's not. Not going to stop me from doing it, though."

AI775 was going to say something more. She knew it, could see it from the way its expressive plates moved. But whatever it was going to be, she didn't want to hear it. Things were hard enough as was and she didn't need any more stress to add to the growing pile. Turning her back on the platform Zha left the corridor to walk into the cockpit. Her heart was beating in her chest, loud and painful.

She hated how much she was feeling. She hated the emotions clogging her brain. How great it would have been to be like the geth, unfeeling and working on pure logic. It would have made this so much easier.

VI-09 had followed after her and was walking circles around Zha's feet. She kneeled down to lift the little bot into her arms. She backed down to the pilot's chair and set Niner onto her lap, running her hand over the uneven shapes and sharp corners of VI-09's body. Her hands were trembling, she couldn't get them to stop.

Just a few more hours. Then it would be over.

She was pretty sure she was going to be sick.


	42. Chapter 42

It was a ship. It was a huge, gigantic, larger-than-life ship that dwarfed Zha's tiny bucket of rust and bolts by its mere presence. It looked like it was large enough to function as a small space station if the owner wanted so and the closer Zha got to it, the worse she felt. Her ship was like a spec of dust compared to this behemoth.

She was going to die.

Her palms were sweaty in her gloves, creating a disgusting feeling that she was getting far too familiar with. The dampness could not have been good for her skin, but then again, no one was ever going to see the skin on her hands, so who cared, right? Squeezing her fists together tightly, Zha stared at the approaching ship, eyes large enough to feel like they were about to fall off if she wasn't careful.

She was going to die.

As she got close enough, her comm. system started crackling. Zha's hands were trembling something awful when she reached for the controls, readying herself for the coming message.

"_Unknown ship, identify yourself._"

The voice sounded cold, harsh and uncaring. Zha fumbled with the buttons, trying to find which one was for talking. Several years spent with Scribble doing all the work for her was doing her no favors right now. Finding the right button she slammed her palm on it, fearing that too much time had gone already and they were going to blast her ship to bits.

"This is…! This… This is Zha'Ora vas Nedas. I'm, uh… An asari named Sunei took my mechs and told me to come see her at these coordinates, so… uh… I'm here now."

The line was silent for a moment, maybe a few seconds, but Zha's mind stretched that short beat of a moment into an eternity, filling her mind with all sorts of nasty thoughts how they were going to kill her without a second thought. How the only way to get out of this situation was to just hand them the geth, hand it over and get the hell out of there.

She realized she wasn't breathing. Zha gulped a big breath just as the voice came back.

"_Do you have the geth with you?_" it asked.

Zha looked out of the cockpit, seeing the platform's arm dangling out through the kitchen door. She licked her lips and turned back to the console.

"Yeah, I… it's right there. Just like she asked."

"_Good,_" the voice spoke curtly. "_Dock in and we can make the exchange._"

"Yes, good," she muttered. "Thank you."

Her hands were trembling on the controls. No, wait, that wasn't right. Her whole body was convulsing and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The mere idea of stepping out of her ship felt impossible, a feat far too great for her to beat. Her resolution was waning, it had never been too great to begin with, but now it was nearly nonexistent.

_She was going to die!_

"Keelah," she muttered. Now was not the time for this! She needed to dock the ship, feed in the next coordinates and get out there. This wasn't the time for tears and whimpers.

Pulling herself together by the scraps of her confidence, Zha managed to sidle her ship to the menacing bigger one's side. Her trusty old rust bucket let out worrying sounds as it connected to the airlock extension of the other ship. Zha had to hold onto the walls to keep upright as her old faithful rocked from side to side.

It was show time. Zha put on her game-face, even if she was going to be the only one to know it was there, and grabbed the pistol, holding it like she was expecting it to blow up into smithereens in her hands. Yep. She was drawing a pretty threatening image like this. She bit her teeth together. She could do this. There was no turning back.

Zha stumbled out of the cockpit and to the airlock door. VI-09 was there, waiting for her.

"No, no, honey," she said, kneeling to pat the thing on its head, throwing off the poor thing's balance with her affections. "You're going to be staying in here, remember? When I'm out that door, the ship is going to move out. Now listen to me very carefully. When the ship starts moving, I need you to go to the kitchen door. Wait for a few… for… wait for five minutes and then release the door. That should give the ship enough distance. You got that? Wait for five minutes, then the door."

Niner let out a click, indicating that it understood. Zha hummed softly and patted it again, not quite trusting her voice enough to say anything else. She cleared her throat and stood up. Turning to face the kitchen door, she could just barely see the geth staring at her. Zha squared her shoulders, standing up straighter.

"You… you be good to Niner, got that? He's a good little bot. It won't do you any harm. Please just… Just let him be, okay? And whatever you decide to do… please don't let anything happen to him? I don't…" Her voice broke and Zha tried to clear her throat again. It wasn't helping much. Maybe it would be better to just leave before she started crying. It wouldn't help her one bit, after all.

She heard the geth call after her, speaking her name in that weird way it liked to address her, but she didn't turn to look back. She opened the shipside airlock door and stepped in. She didn't dare to look back at VI-09. Her emotions were shaky enough as it was.

The door closing in after her sounded so final. The heavy thuds of the airtight seals closing in, the hissing of the pressure stabilizer filling her ears, sounding louder than they rightfully should have. And then, with the pace of a melting glacier, the space-side door opened.

Behind it was a dimly lit corridor. Zha craned her neck, feet stuck to the ground. She couldn't see anyone, just pure white walls, squeaky clean floors and a blue number painted to the wall, no doubt the name of the port. She had kind of been expecting a bigger welcome, maybe guns pointed at her face or something. But there was no one there.

Holding tighter onto the pistol, Zha took a few cautious steps forward until she was out of the airlock. The door behind her slid shut, this ship's own airlocking mechanism far smoother than hers, sealing the way to her safe haven. Behind the door she could hear rumbling. Her ship was taking off. Zha's loudly beating heart calmed down a little. Good. At least that part of the plan was working.

And now it was time to face the music. She drew a harsh breath through her nose and started walking further in, the pistol tightly in her hands.

The corridor wasn't long, just a few steps ahead it made a sharp turn. Zha's boots were squeaking loudly on the floor, sticking to the clean surface with years of life and dirt. She rounded up the corner to find stairs going down.

Everything in here was so damn clean. It felt unnatural to her, like no one actually lived or worked here. The walls were pristine white, smooth surfaces that looked like they would repel anything that touched them. She wanted to touch them, to see if she could leave a smudge on them from her oily gloves. But there was no time for that. She had far more pressing matters to attend to than worrying about leaving a lasting mark here before dying a horrifying death. Zha started descending the stairs with extreme caution. Maybe even too extreme, she was hardly even making progress trying every step with the toes of her boots before resting weight on them.

And every step of the way she was expecting a trap. A setup. Whatever. Things were being far too calm. There were no homicidal asari, no shouting mercenaries. Just her and some freaky clean walls.

The stairs led her into a large hanger. A quick glance revealed dozens of vehicles for ground and air alike. But there she also finally found some life. And that life was pointing its weapons at her.

Zha squeaked and nearly dropped her pistol before they could even demand that from her.

There were four mercenaries there, dressed in matching armors that made it hard to see whether they were batarians, humans or asari. They were all pointing their weapons at her, though, so it didn't really matter what race they were. Behind them there was also a human man dressed in clean clothes that reminded Zha of the outfit she had seen on Sunei when she had first met the blue alien on Omega.

"Put down the pistol," one of the mercs shouted, voice distorted by her helmet. Zha was all too happy to oblige, her fingers growing slack around the pistol and the weapon falling to the ground with a loud clang. Her arms sprung to the air on their own accord in a universal sign of helplessness. Now she was unarmed in an unknown hanger with guns pointed at her heart.

Great. All according to her shitty plan.

"You're the quarian we were expecting," the human in the fancy clean getup shouted. It wasn't a question, really, more like a snooty statement, but Zha nodded enthusiastically anyway. Her eyes darted around, trying to see everything at once, but she was disappointed to find that her crew was nowhere to be seen.

Not so great.

"You're supposed to have the geth with you!" the human shouted. There was some distance between them, but shouting was completely unnecessary. His voice was echoing loudly from the hanger's walls. "Where is it? And where did your ship leave?"

Zha didn't like the tone of that man's voice. It was way too condescending. She bristled and brought her hands down.

"The ship won't be coming back until I say so!" she shouted back, trying to match the human's tone. It would have been great, too, had her voice not been wavering so much. "I want to see my mechs before I hand you over anything!"

The human crossed his arms, looking everything but amused by her show of bravery. The mercs around him murmured to each other and put down their weapons. Apparently they were smart enough to see that Zha wasn't much of a threat. She couldn't tell if they were buying her bluff or not, but then again, there was nothing they could have done about it either, was there? Her ship was gone and hopefully these guys couldn't bring it back either.

"Alright then, quarian," the human said, looking her up and down with narrowed eyes. He was rubbing his chin with thoughtful motions. "We're going to take you to see your mechs before discussing the exchange. The Overseer has expressed his wishes to speak with you. He is waiting with Sunei to see you."

The asari's name drop could not have been accidental. Zha could see the man smiling a little at her apparent discomfort. It was a threat, completely unnecessary and done out of spite. Shivers ran up her spine at the thought of having the privilege to get to meet Sunei again. To be honest, she could have lived without it.

But there was no turning back now. She couldn't get the geth back anymore, the plan was already in motion, so why change it? The deal was not going to take place and the only thing keeping her alive at the moment was the fact that these people didn't know that just yet.

Well, maybe she would have rather died in the hands of these people than Sunei. The asari's name spelled out pain and suffering to her, these guys at least would probably just shoot her without much fuss.

But hey, where's the adventure in that?"

"Alright, quarian," the human said, stepping out from behind the mercenaries to approach Zha just so he could stare down at her. "Come along, then. The sooner we get this over with, the better. Some of us have work to do here. You stealing away our test subject has really put a damper on the project."

Zha was shepherded away from the stairs and into the hanger. The mercs surrounded her and the scientist man from fours sides, effectively blocking Zha's chances of escape. Not that she had been planning on running anyway. This had been the plan all along, hadn't it? The human had his hand hovering over Zha's back, not quite touching, but there all the same, ushering Zha to move.

"The Overseer says that this was a good thing, but I am failing to see his enthusiasm. To think that a mere lonely quarian managed to steal the platform from us? It is a disgrace."

Whether he was talking to Zha or just to hear his own voice, Zha didn't know. But she listened to him complain about the state of the project all the way from one end of the hanger to the other. Apparently the Overseer had formerly been part of a bigger team but had decided to take his group of scientists and go solo. It looked to be going well for the guy, by Zha's standards, but this human who was still to introduce himself seemed to think he would have been better off with the original group.

The man kept complaining and Zha was starting to fear that he would keep at it all the way to the end. But for once, life gave her a little break.

Oh, wait. No. What she meant to think was that of course things could never go as planned. Because rotten luck.

A loud crash sounded from behind them, followed by an even louder screech. The mercs swirled around to face the direction they had come from, Zha and the human following a bit slower. The floor trembled slightly before setting calmly. The hanger was quiet again and nothing was out of place. Zha looked around at the mercs and the neatly dressed human. She was worried to see that they looked just as confused as she felt.

"Um…" she started. "What was that?"

None of them were paying attention to her. One of the mercs started talking into a comm. system, talking fast, demanding to know what had just happened. She couldn't make out what the person on the other side was saying but by the looks of it Zha wasn't the only one lost.

"This is none of our concern," the scientist said. "Let the others deal with it, the Overseer has asked us to hurry and – "

His voice was drowned by one of the mercs shouting. He had spotted something.

Zha could see the source of commotion as well. And seeing the familiar form of AI775 descending the same set of stairs she had just come down maybe five minutes ago she felt the bottom of her stomach dropping.

The geth was armed with the assault riffle pilfered from the dead mercs, approaching steadily. The mercs moved to circle the platform, weapons aimed and at ready.

"Drop the weapon, geth!" one of them shouted. "Drop it now!"

AI775 was a little less inclined to follow the orders than Zha had been, holding onto the riffle without any indication of letting go any time soon.

Zha stared dumbfounded as the platform stopped its approach, turning its head around to scan the mercs around it before turning to her, staring at her emotionlessly.

Zha threw her arms in the air. "What?!" she screeched. "What? Why? I don't even… _What the hell are you doing in here?_"

That stupid pile of scraps and bolts regarded her quietly as the mercs gathered closer, demanding loudly for it to put down the riffle or they would shoot. Her fear momentarily forgotten Zha marched closer, pushing past one of the hirelings to stand right in front of the platform, poking her finger at its chest.

"Answer me! What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "The plan! I had a plan!"

The geth slowly turned its head so that it could look at her. Zha was once again reminded of the platform's menacing size compared to her short build. She bit her teeth together and stared right back at its eye.

"The creator's plan would not have been successful," it said plainly.

Zha bristled. "My plan was working just fine," she ground between her teeth. "You were not supposed to be here."

The geth did not move. Even its expressive plates were flat against its head, the lights around its photoreceptor shining dimly.

"Creator Zha'Ora's chances of survival were low."

Did this rust brain not understand that that had been the plan all along?

"Yeah, well, do you think they're going to be much better with you here?" she asked, poking the platform's chest again.

"Yes," it said simply.

Zha was about to tell the geth what she thought of its opinions and plan-ruining tendencies, but didn't have time to let out much more than a surprised yelp before AI775 had grabbed her by the arm to pull her out of the way. One of the mercenaries had gotten a bit too close and the geth was not going to let that stand. With a quick pull of the trigger, the mercenary's armor gained a few new dents.

After that, all hell broke loose.

The mercs didn't hesitate to open fire on the geth, ready to put it down for good and with Zha standing next to it, she didn't quite like this turn of events. She yelped in surprise when the geth kicked her feet from under her, sending her flying onto the ground like marionette without its strings. She lifted her head to see AI775 sprinting to take cover behind some large crates with the Overseer's logos on them.

A solid plan, she had to concur. Zha followed the platform's example and dove to take some cover of her own.

The good thing was that apparently the mercs still didn't take her as a threat. That meant she wasn't their priority and they wouldn't be pointing their guns her way any time soon. The bad thing was that if they managed to get the geth, the status quo might change real soon. She could see it already. They would think that this had been all her plan, that she had wanted the geth to start a fight all along. And then they would shoot her to smithereens and Zha would never get a chance to see her crew.

Stupid AI775, stupid geth ruining everything!

Weapons were being fired and blasts flew over the crates Zha was hiding behind. She was laying on her back, staring up and praying to the Ancestors that this would all turn out to be some elaborated nightmare and she would wake up to a ship full of mechs, Scribble would tell her that she had overslept or something and she would eat nutrient paste for breakfast, maybe even the good stuff after the dreams she had had. But Zha wasn't waking up and the human scientist's nagging voice was drilling into her brain. The man was spouting something about damaging the test subject or something as useless as that. Zha closed her eyes and gripped onto her arms.

She could hear it the moment the geth managed to drop one of the mercs down. The dying hireling let out a strangled cry that was cut short by a burst of fires shot. Someone was cursing loudly and the fighting intensified for a moment. But then it sounded like another one of the mercenaries got shot down.

Zha's fists were trembling. She had to fight to get her eyes open. Carefully she rolled over to her stomach and then to her knees to take a peek over the crate.

She'd heard right. Two of the mercs were lying on the ground, as dead as could be. She couldn't see the geth, but from the way the mercs were shooting at a mangled looking vehicle, Zha could take a guess where AI775 was hiding.

"You stop that this instant!" the scientist shouted. "Apprehend the geth but do not break it! Have you got any idea how valuable that thing is?"

One of the remaining mercs turned to tell the man what she thought about the value of the platform that had killed her comrades but before she could even get a single vowel out, AI775 sprung out of its hidey hole and shot her in the head.

Zha stared in terrified awe.

AI775 was surprisingly… capable… in the killing business. It was moving smoothly, every move calculated to perfection and even with its lower quality limbs it mowed down the mercenary without breaking a sweat… figuratively speaking, of course.

The last remaining merc cried out in outrage, charging at the geth, shooting his shotgun at the platform. The shots all connected, one hitting the platform's new leg, one connecting with its chest, knocking the geth back a little and the third hitting the assault riffle it had been holding.

Zha gasped, watching with horror as the mercenary knocked down the platform, leveling his shotgun at the geth's head.

"Stop! Don't you dare shoot that geth!" the scientist shouted, running from his own hiding place to where the platform was. "I cannot believe this! You could have seriously harmed the test subject!"

The man started to nag the mercenary but it was clear that the hireling wasn't listening at all. He looked close to shooting the geth right then and there for taking out his three comrades.

This was her chance to… do something. Zha slipped out from her cover, looking around desperately. She spotted one of the fallen mercenaries carrying her old pistol. She dove for it and lifted it up, hands trembling something awful when she took aim. Closing her right eye, Zha bit her lip, wished for her lucky stars and squeezed the trigger.

The shot flew wide past the target, hitting a wall somewhere in the distance. Both the merc and the scientist turned to look at her. Zha squeaked and tried to aim again, releasing another shot, hitting the ground next to AI775's head.

Shit.

The merc lifted his gun, but the moment he took his attention away from the geth platform, it kicked him, making the man loose his balance. The geth didn't hesitate to upturn the situation, knocking the man down, grabbing him by the throat and bashing his head against the floor.

Zha had to look away. It took a few heavy thuds before she could hear a crack and she would have liked to believe that it was simply the merc's helmet cracking while the man himself was unconscious, but reality was weighing heavy around her.

She turned back to the scene whens he heard the high squeal of the scientist. AI775 had grabbed him by the front of his coat and was holding him in place. The grip around the man's collar was strong enough to make the fabric rip.

"You… you have no right," the human shouted. "You are the property of the Overseer. Stand down! Let go of me and stand down this instant!"

AI775's expressive plates were flared open to their fullest extent. The platform had the merc's shotgun in its other hand. The geth lifted it easily to rest at the base of the man's neck.

"The Overseer has claim over neither this platform nor the programs within," it said.

Zha was quick to turn her eyes to her feet, but that didn't mute the sound of the gun going off.

That… that had been violent. Her throat was contracting and Zha's mouth tasted bitter. She felt like she was going to gag. Her arm gripped at the front of her suit, holding on so tight her fingers were going numb. Her other hand was holding onto the pistol and the weapon felt even heavier than usual.

She'd seen fighting before. Of course she had and death wasn't exactly a new concept to her. Hell, she'd been there when Sunei and her buddies had boarded her ship. She'd been there, she'd seen what had happened to them.

But this was… this was different.

It was just that maybe she had forgotten how capable geth platforms could be in terminating other life forms when given the chance.

How the hell was she still alive with that thing on her ship?

The approaching steps of the platform drew her attention and Zha's neck cricked painfully when she threw her head up with a little too much force. The platform was slowly walking closer, its expressive plates smoothed out again, lights dim.

Zha's eyed zeroed in on the shotgun in its hands. It had blood on it. She licked her lips and looked up.

"Creator Zha'Ora, have you sustained damage?"

Other than nightmares to last a lifetime? Zha patted her body, numbly feeling if anything was out of place. She couldn't find any tears on her suit and even though she could tell that there'd be bruises forming underneath there somewhere, it wasn't anything she couldn't live with.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm just fine," she squeaked, her voice close to breaking. This was bad. Really bad.

AI775 was staring at her expressionlessly, holding its new weapon with confidence. This right here was a killing machine.

"Why did you come here?" she asked hoarsely.

The geth had an answer at ready.

"Creator Zha'Ora's chances of survival were low."

"Yeah, but…" But nothing. Zha looked down at her hands. "This was the place where you absolutely did not want to come to. Not logical, remember?"

The platform was standing so motionless it sent shivers down Zha's spine.

"I mean, you had the chance to get out there, to go do whatever. But instead you came here. Do you want to get caught by this Overseer guy?"

The platform's expressive plates flinched at the mention of the man. A sore subject for sure.

"You could have gone anywhere!" she said, throwing her arms around to showcase the vastness of the Galaxy and only managing to point out the hanger they were in at the moment.

"No," the geth said. "Untrue."

"Uh, nu-uh, very true," Zha argued. "The Galaxy was your oyster. So why the hell would you come here? I just can't understand!"

By the reaction of the geth platform, neither could they. AI775 stared down at her, then looked at the weapon in its arms and then back at her. It said nothing.

"This is not going to end well," Zha said. "You get that, right? You being here doesn't make this any better. This ship is enormous! There are probably like thousands of people in here, all better equipped for fighting than I'll ever be. One geth platform isn't going to change that. No matter how… uh… good at fighting you might be."

"We are aware."

But she was not going to get a response, was she? Zha ran her tongue over the inside of her teeth. So be it, then.

"Does the creator have a plan?" AI775 asked.

"I…" Zha looked around at the bodies on the floor. They had given a good fight and it had only been four of them, well five, if you counted the science guy. There was bound to be more on the way. The geth had sustained some pretty bad looking injuries, his new leg looking like it was a few more hits away from giving out under the platform. "I… _had_ a plan. I don't have one now."

It would have been nice to think that maybe with the geth at her side, she could easily stitch up a rescue mission where they stormed the ship and saved her crew, but that would have been hopeful thinking.

The geth was staring at her. Expecting something out of her. Zha licked her lips.

"We're going to find them," she said. "My crew. We're going to find them and we're going to give these bastards a good fight, yeah?"

"Affirmative."

Yeah. Affirmative. Sure. Great. This was going to work out just great.

"We would ask of one thing from the creator," the geth said.

Zha let out a questioning hum, looking up at the platform wearily.

"When we reach the Overseer, we would ask the creator to terminate us before being captured. We have no wishes to be experimented on again."

They were going to die.


	43. Chapter 43

Their mind was in full chaos. It was filled with hundreds of different voices screaming at once, all wanting different things. Clarity was impossible to achieve, the need for survival constantly outweighed by the need to act. They should have stayed on the ship. They should have left creator Zha'Ora to her fate, it clearly was what she wanted, after all. But here they were. Back on square one.

The Overseer's space station.

They had only scarce memories of this place from before. Mostly they had been kept strapped to a flat surface where the Overseer's scientist could poke and probe at their platform. But sometimes they would be allowed to flee. Sometimes they had been given the illusion that there was a chance they could get out and that had been when they had gotten the chance to see the station itself.

It wasn't good. Memory files were being uploaded without their consent, warning signs flaring without a purpose. They did not want to be here. They should have stayed on the ship.

But they hadn't. The moment VI-09 (Niner) had released them off their hold, they had ran to the cockpit and turned the ship around. It hadn't even taken a conscious thought, the programs had acted on their own accord, no recollection of a consensus made anywhere in their data banks.

There was no telling what the Overseer would have done to creator Zha'Ora without them.

Looking back at the creator following their platform as they guided her deeper into the ship, they could see the signs of nervousness slowly taking over her whole being. Her eyes were darting around, her pose tight like a coil ready to spring. She looked at their platform for a fraction of a second before looking down at the ground, seeming embarrassed to be found looking at them.

It was clear that something precious had been broken between them. The creator was keeping a careful distance between herself and the platform, just out of arm's reach at all times. Whenever she lost sight of their platform, she would start acting skittish.

She was scared. She was scared of the situation, the ship around them and the threat looming over them. That was to be expected. But she was also scared of them.

They could not blame her for it. Trust had been broken. Creator Zha'Ora would have been a fool to trust them after what had happened between them. Both sides had acted against each other and now they were here. Decisions had been made and they could not be taken back. Time spent thinking about it was time wasted.

But they couldn't help it. They couldn't help the handful of programs that were left disappointed after having hoped that perhaps the creator _would_ be foolish enough to trust them again. They had, after all, come back to her. They were helping her on this fool's mission. But they could not tell if she was more afraid of the thought of the asari or the geth platform leading them forward.

Seeing the creator act this way, clearly mistrustful of them again, made them… feel. They were uncertain what it was, a constant whispering at the back of the hive. It served only to confuse their already disheveled mind further. Something was amiss with their programs, an odd sort of lack of… something. They tried to scan their processor to find the cause of this anomaly, but as before, there seemed to be no problem.

That didn't remove the empty feeling of loss, though.

Pointless. It was pointless to dwell on it anymore. The creator was taking them to a certain doom and they had other things to worry about.

They had left the hanger bay without any further disturbances. The corridors here were empty and their steps echoed loudly around them. There were cameras all around, all turning to follow their movements as they made their way deeper into the ship. So the element of surprise was not something they could pull off. The creator had retrieved her lost pistol, the cheap one, even though she could have easily traded it for a better one in the hanger where the scientist had dropped his one. But creator Zha'Ora had simply picked up her own, less superior one. They were starting to think that maybe she didn't want to come out alive and well after this. It was a worrying thought.

"Keelah," they heard her mutter to herself as they passed a window showing the space outside. The ship must have looked even larger to her from this perspective. She stopped to peer out, her ship a barely noticeable blip in the far distance, connected to the Overseer's overcompensating station.

The Overseer had formerly been a part of a bigger human corporation, working as a head research there. But the man had taken his team and left after another similar but far more successful team had made a breakthrough that put them above his team. Now the man was running his own experiments far from the jurisdiction of the Citadel, the group he had worked for before or anyone else except for him.

Creator Zha'Ora was looking faint, her eyes lingering on her ship in the distance. She might not have expected the Overseer's station to be quite the caliber it was. Maybe in her organic mind she had tried to paint this as a lesser problem than it actually was. But now when reality was staring her in the eye, she could not handle it. Her hands were shaking at her sides, face appearing ashen behind her visor.

"It is not too late to turn back," they attempted to reason with her.

The creator gave them a quick look, refusing to keep her eye on their form for longer than a few seconds.

"Yes it is," she said, voice wavering in her attempt to hide her fear. She straightened her back and stepped away from the window. At least their attempt to dissuade her seemed to help her win back some of her fight. They filed this information for later use. Maybe if by some miracle they would survive this, they could use the data later on to rebuild the relationship they had had with the creator.

Unlikely.

Forcibly relocating the programs moping over the receding relationship between their collective hive mind and creator Zha'Ora, they continued their way further in.

The ship was deceptively quiet. They could detect no other life forms save for the creator behind them. This was not a good sign. It was clear that the organics here knew they were on board and that they had killed the mercenaries and the scientist in the hanger bay, but there were no signs of reinforcements. No hired guns rushing in to take them down, no sounds of gunfire. Just silent long corridors and creator Zha'Ora's elevated heart rate.

The Overseer was planning something. There was a high likelihood that they were being led into a trap. They gave a quick scan at a camera tracking their movements from the ceiling.

Their chances of survival were minimal. They knew it. The creator knew it. There was no escaping the facts. The asari, who appeared to be in charge of the Overseer's mercenaries, had shown to be a strong opponent and they doubted that even if their platform had been in its peak condition, they would not have stood a chance against her. The last time they had engaged in combat with the asari, they had had the element of surprise. She had not expected their collaboration with creator Zha'Ora and her mechs to be as effective as it had been. It was doubtful that they would be able to replicate such a situation and this time they didn't have the mechs to back them up.

This was a suicide mission.

Well, better termination than capture, they thought. And on this all of their programs, including those installed by the Overseer, agreed. It was quite telling that even the simple programs that were supposed to be loyal to the human man would have rather seen their destruction than return back to his clutches. They did not wish to be here, they did not want to return back into the room where they would be tested, where the humans would break their platform apart only to build it back again to see what made it tick. Their programs would distort, their thinking would muddle and they would go through endless cycles of shutting down and turning back on.

"I don't think we should be starting more fights," the creator muttered. "I don't think I can… help that much."

They did not need to turn to her to know that creator Zha'Ora wasn't looking at them, but rather staring at her feet or the general direction of the floor.

"Agreed."

"I don't think we'd even have a chance against them," she muttered more to herself than the programs it seemed, mirroring their previous thoughts. "So let's just… hear what they have to say, right? Maybe there's a chance that this is going to go our way."

Creator Zha'Ora's optimism was ill placed and unwarranted, but it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. She knew the futility of this mission, yet chose to hang onto her fleeting hope.

They had to wonder how organics had survived as a species this long. Maybe it was because wide-eyed individuals such as creator Zha'Ora got killed first and the others were allowed to reproduce.

"Affirmative."

She looked up at them, uncertainty clear in her movements. She looked like she was expecting something out of them and what they were giving her was not enough.

"Yeah," she said, turning her attention back on the floor. "Affirmative."

They walked through the corridors of the station, running into no one. The further they moved, the clearer it became that they were being lead along to an unknown destination. Doors around them were almost always locked, barred and closed so that they could not go anywhere but where the corridors were leading them. Sometimes the way would be blocked and one of the doors would be open, guiding them to walk through other areas, labs, recreational areas, and conference rooms. And through all of this, there were no other organic creatures present save for creator Zha'Ora.

This worried both the creator and them.

_Scanning area…_

_Scan complete_

_One organic life sign detected, creator Zha'Ora (safe)_

_Hostiles: Unknown_

"Area: secure," they spoke out loud, their voice echoing loudly in the corridor, making the creator jump and turn to them with wide eyes.

Apparently their attempt to open a conversation was not appreciated. Creator Zha'Ora was frowning under her visor, arms wrapped around her middle, squeezing tight.

"No hostiles detected," they continued.

She hummed a noncommittal answer, shrugging her shoulders a little.

"They're just waiting to ambush us, right?" she muttered. "Because you had to come and shoot the mercs."

The creator's tone was accusing. They stopped moving and turned around to face her. Creator Zha'Ora jumped back, mistrust in her movements clear.

"Terminating the hostiles was a necessary measure to ensure – "

"No!" she said. "It was not necessary. I was doing just fine before you decided to come butting into my business again! Now everything is shitty and they're going to kill me before I get to see my crew."

"Unlikely," they argued. "They still expect you to make the exchange."

The creator threw her hands in the air. "After what you just pulled? I'd say _that's_ pretty unlikely, but hey, that's just me! A stupid organic thinking stupid organic thoughts."

"Creator Zha'Ora's shouting is unnecessary and detrimental to the mission."

"_You_ are detrimental to _my_ mission!"

They stared down at her, assessing the situation. Arguing the creator was not helping one bit. Turning their platform back around, they started walking down the corridor, expecting the creator to follow after them anyway.

"They want you functional," creator Zha'Ora muttered. "You've just painted an even bigger target on my back."

They did not answer her. It was useless at this point. Nothing they could say would make things any better.

The creator stood on her spot, arms folded over her chest with the pistol poking out awkwardly from under her arms. She stood on her spot for a few seconds with the distance between her and the platform growing. They counted ten steps before creator Zha'Ora breathed out a frustrated sigh and followed after them, jogging to catch up. They did not attempt to start another conversation.

After fourteen minutes of wandering, they entered a large hall working as storage for the Overseer's other projects. Crates were stacked up to piles of three and four, reaching to the high ceiling above. The creator eyed the crates with trepidation, as if expecting them to spring to life and squash her if she didn't keep them in her line of sight at all times. Her head was swiveling from side to side, eyes darting around.

"Where is everybody?" she asked uncertainly as they passed a forklift left standing in the middle of the walkway. It was clear that people had been working here not too long ago. They had left in a hurry, it would seem.

_Scanning area…_

_Scan complete_

_One organic life sign detected, creator Zha'Ora (safe)_

_Hostiles: Unknown_

"We do not know."

Their answer did not seem to make the creator feel any better.

At the other end of the hall, there was a large pair of doors, shut tight. Creator Zha'Ora attempted to open them only to find them locked. She turned around to them, looking helpless.

"I guess they don't want us to continue this way," she said lightly, trying to sound as positive as she could. Her wavering voice was enough of an indication to tell otherwise, though.

"Unless they want us to remain here, there must be another door here somewhere. We will search the left side of the room while creator Zha'Ora – "

"Oh-hoh-hoo, no!" the creator snapped. "We're not getting separated. I'm not doing that shit. That's how it always starts. And then they can kill me and snatch you like that. Well, I'm not falling for that!"

Well, at least the creator wanted to travel with them instead of going her own way. That thought delighted too many programs to their liking. They started looking around the walls for another exit with creator Zha'Ora in tow. She was fingering her pistol in a way that worried them. If she accidentally shot herself onboard this ship, they doubted they could get her fixed soon enough before infection would set in.

The lights above head flickered ominously. The creator moved to stand a little closer, head moving faster as she tried to gain 360-degree vision.

Suddenly the lights above went out. Creator Zha'Ora screamed and grabbed a hold of their arm, momentarily throwing off their balance. They quickly adjusted their vision to the lower light levels, trying their best to see the reason behind this sudden change in their surroundings.

Movement. They could hear approaching steps. Multiple organics were moving around them, sounds coming both overhead and on the ground level around them. Something was moving on the crates and their steps echoed loudly in the hall. It appeared that they weren't even trying to hide their approach. It was a sound strategy, creator Zha'Ora was showing signs of extreme agitation, needlessly pulling at their arm. The lack of sensory feed from the limb was disorienting them a little, but they had little time to lament this fact.

Something slammed hard on the crate just behind the creator's back, the loud metallic clang ringing out through the entire hall as something landed on top of the crate. The creator let out a quiet whine, then clamped one hand on the audio port of her helmet, scrambling with it until it let out a small click. She needn't have worried about making noise, though. It was clear that these people already knew where they were.

Just as quickly as the lights had gone out, they turned on again, illuminating the area around them so brightly that their programs were having a hard time adjusting to it. The creator was struggling even more with it, covering her visor with her hands and looking like she was cussing underneath, even though no sound made it out. They were standing in a spotlight, it appeared, the rest of the hall remaining considerably darker than the corner they had backed themselves into.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Zha'Ora vas Nedas," a familiar voice they immediately recognized as Sunei called out above them. The source of the clang became clear now, the asari having landed there with the purpose of intimidation, no doubt. "And here I thought you said you weren't going to come. You kept me waiting, girl!"

They could not see the asari properly, not with the lights shining at them and leaving the other organics in the room to the shadows. But they could see her outlines, relaxed and staring down from her perch. She was standing way out of reach for the shotgun they had obtained. And she was not alone. They could detect at least three muffled beating hearts and there was no doubt in their mind that there were more around. They moved subtly so that their platform was situated between the asari and creator Zha'Ora.

Calculating the situation, they knew that with the shotgun they had, there was no chance for them to hit the asari. She was standing just out of reach, a clearly deliberate move from her part. Their sensors were working hard to locate the other organics, but even their photoreceptor wasn't sharp enough to see in the dark with the light shining at them. The odds were not in their favor. They had been backed to a corner.

They had been lead into this hall on purpose.

Above head, a blue glow illuminated the asari, making her clearer to see. She was smiling, no surprise there, pulling every trick to frighten the creator needlessly. Why the asari thought necessary to bully someone so inferior in power was beyond them.

They could see the fingers around their arm tightening as creator Zha'Ora moved from the safe spot behind their platform to the clear sight of both the asari and the mercs hiding in the shadows. She reached for the mouthpiece of her helmet, clicking it back on. Her whole body was trembling like in the clutches of sickness, but the creator stood straight, her eyes sharp.

"I… I came to get my crew back!" creator Zha'Ora said, voice a little tight, but strong. "You had not right to take them from me!"

Sunei's lazy smile was glowing blue, her eyes kind and condescending.

"I believe humans have a saying that fits this situation marvelously," she said. "It's something about a pot calling a kettle black."

The creator let go of their arm, stepping further away from them. Her fists were trembling at her sides, eyes merely slits behind her visor, barely visible.

Soft steps were approaching around them, far subtler than the loud movements of before, trying to hide from their platform's sensors. They looked around, spying signs of organic life moving closer and closer.

_Hostiles: Eight detected_

_Unknown1: Hostile_

_Unknown 2: Hostile_

_Unknown 3: Hostile_

_Unknown 4: Hostile_

_Unknown5: Hostile_

_Unknown6: Hostile_

_Unknown7: Hostile_

_Asari1(Sunei): Hostile_

All of them were armed better than the two of them and even if the creator had picked up the better pistol, they doubted she would have proven much of assistance in a firefight. She had offered distraction before, but they could not count on a tactic like that working twice in a row. Organics were adaptable. They learned fast and would not allow themselves to be surprised as easily.

Perhaps creator Zha'Ora had been right. Starting a fight had been a shortsighted action. Much like many of their decisions lately.

"So tell me, dear, are you here to make the exchange or not?" Sunei asked, leaning over the crate so she could properly stare down at the creator from her perch. She gave a quick glance at the geth platform before retuning her hungry glare at the creator. "You have armed your servant. You two killed my mercs. That's not good. Not good at all, sweetie. You should disarm it immediately if you know what's good for you."

Creator Zha'Ora did not move, neither to take their gun nor to hide behind their platform. Her heart rate was climbing up worrying scales. They turned to look at her, trying to coax her wordlessly to get moving unless she wanted to anger the organics around them. But the creator just remained still.

The asari sighed in disappointment, the glow growing more vibrant. "Tick tock, little girl," she called waving her finger like a pendulum. "I don't want to spend the whole day here. As much as I love these little meetings we have, I have actual work to get done. Prosthetic trade, remember? I've been so caught up with this whole affair that my business has been suffering. So be a dear and just do as your told."

The creator's head turned to look at their platform uncertainly. She took one step at their direction, then, as if fueled by the movement, followed it with another and one more until she was standing right in front of them. But instead of grabbing the gun and trying to wrestle it off them, she turned back around to face the asari so that she was standing between her and their platform, in the clear line of fire. They tried to signal her to find better cover, but creator Zha'Ora was avoiding them with the best of her efforts.

"I'm not going to do anything before I see my crew!" she shouted. "I need to know that they are alright!"

A bold demand, something that could get them killed fast. But the asari just seemed amused. She chuckled and shook her head, the blue glow dying down until she was standing in the dark again.

"Alright, girl. Alright. I guess I can appreciate your guts. Men! Turn on the lights and bring one of the mechs here!"

The creator relaxed visibly, shoulders dropping down and fingers growing slack. Sunei's orders were followed right away, the lights above head turning on, bathing the hall in surreal light. Everything around them was so clean, so white. It did not feel right.

Seeing their surroundings properly, they could see the mercenaries around them, forming something of a circle, taking cover on top and behind the creates, weapons pointed at their way. Snipers were perched high, a human and a turian keeping their sights on the two of them, ground troops ready to rush in to take care of the rest. An above them all was Sunei in all of her power and glory.

Two batarian mercs came into view, carrying VI-13 (Lucky) between them by the arms. They hauled the offline mech to them, dropping the motionless carcass on the floor before the creator and retreating quickly.

Creator Zha'Ora drew a shaky breath and whispered: "Lukcy," at the sight of the mech. It was looking exactly the same as it had in the video feed and the sight of it put at least some of the creator's concerns to rest. She stumbled closer, kneeling down in front of it and running her hands over the mech, inspecting for damage. They could hear her sniffling quietly, trying to cover the sobs but failing at it horribly. And it was clear that the mercs and more importantly Sunei heard it as well.

"Isn't this just wonderful?" the asari said, hand over her chest, mocking the creator's vulnerable state. "A sweet sight, truly. Makes this matron almost tear up. But you still haven't given me an answer, dear." Sunei paused for effect, lifting her chin a little. The mercs moved ever closer, moving from one cover to another. "Do we have a deal or not?"

The creator didn't look up, choosing to stare at her unresponsive mechanic creation instead. Her hands were stroking VI-13 (Lucky)'s head affectionately, if not a little desperately. Her voice was wavering worse than before when she finally got a word out.

"This is just one of my crewmates," she said. "Where's the rest? You said you have them all? So w- where are they?"

"The rest?" Sunei said. "You will get them once we have the geth. Don't be greedy, now. Be a good girl and – "

"No!" creator Zha'Ora shouted, holding VI-13 (Lucky) closer. "I need to see them all or there won't be an exchange!"

A heavy silence fell over them, the only noises in the hall the buzzing of the lamps overhead and the silencing echoes of the creator's shout. Sunei stared down at the creator with surprised look, mouth left open from her unfinished sentence, eyes large and a little unfocused.

Not good. Signs of danger were flaring up in their processor, uncertainty weighing heavily on their hive mind. Even the mercs looked tentative, exchanging quick glances at each other's ways.

Sunei started glowing again, brighter than before, her hands gripping into fists as she started laughing. She threw her head back, cackles intensifying as they reverberated from the walls and the metal crates. It appeared that creator Zha'Ora wasn't the only one worried about this as the hired thugs were showing signs of discomfort at the loud cackles as well.

"Oh honey, my little dear baby girl," the asari managed to speak through her peals of laughter. "We're not here to make nice! Do you honestly think that you are in any position to make demands here? _Really?_ How thick can you be?"

"That is enough, Sunei."

Programs froze at the sound of that voice, glitching into a halt the moment it was recognized, their platform ceasing its movements immediately. It didn't take much to recognize the source of the voice. The heavy and rich voice of a human male past his middle age sounded just like it had the last time they had heard it, if not a little more tired than before.

An elderly man walked into the view, coming in through the door creator Zha'Ora and their platform had attempted to move through before. He was dressed in a clean white lab coat, his greying hair neatly combed, squared glasses hanging low from his nose and arms behind his back.

Weaker programs started to shut down. The non-geth programs started feeding junk data into their system.

The Overseer.

"I have this under control, sir," the asari said indignantly.

"Please, Sunei," the Overseer said, pressing his words a bit harder. "That is enough."

The asari's head dropped immediately to a small bow and she stepped back. "Of course, Overseer," she said obediently.

On the ground creator Zha'Ora chocked in a breath and turned to give them a look of question. Programs were stuttering to move forward, forcing their platform to nod discreetly. The creator swallowed and held VI-13 (Lucky) in a death grip against her chest when she turned back to look at the newcomer.


End file.
